Jim Lawley | The Spectator columnists & writers

Spain’s growing culture war over General Franco

There are hundreds of mass graves dotted around the Spanish countryside. In roadside ditches, down hillside gullies, dumped in pits and down disused wells lie thousands of bodies: civilians murdered in cold blood by Franco’s death squads during the civil war that convulsed Spain between 1936 and 1939. Over the nearly forty years of Franco’s dictatorship, few spoke of what had happened during the war; silence and selective amnesia were safer. And even when Franco died in 1975, the overriding priority was the transition to democracy. The old Francoist establishment indicated that it would make way for the new era — provided that there was no digging up of the past and no reprisals. Spaniards were happy to look to the future.

Spain’s pardoning of Catalan separatists may backfire

In one of his adventures on the highways of 17th-century Spain, Don Quixote encounters a gang of prisoners ‘manacled and strung together by the neck, like beads, on a great iron chain'. Undeterred by Sancho’s protestations that these are criminals on their way to serve as galley slaves in just punishment for their crimes, Don Quixote, declaring that it is his duty as a knight errant to provide ‘succour for the wretched’, fights off the guards and frees them. In something of the same spirit, Spain’s prime minister has just announced a pardon for Catalan separatist leaders. Nine politicians, serving sentences of up to 13 years for offences including sedition, are now to be released after almost four years in jail.

Is this a new dawn for the Spanish right?

In Tuesday’s regional elections in Madrid, the right-wing Partido Popular emerged as by far the most successful party, more than doubling its representation to win 65 of the 136 seats in the assembly. Isabel Díaz Ayuso, the 42-year-old local Partido Popular leader who was seeking re-election, won more seats than the three left-wing parties combined. Vox (13 seats), the most right-wing party on the Spanish political spectrum, has already promised Ayuso the support she needs in order to govern. Despite not quite delivering an outright majority, Ayuso’s bold decision to call the snap election has clearly paid off. Her slogan of ‘Libertad’ (Liberty), her attacks on the way Spain’s socialist Prime Minister has handled the pandemic – ‘Madrid’s problem is Pedro Sánchez’ – and her comparatively light touch with Covid restrictions have clearly won her many friends, especially in the hospitality sector.

Can Spain’s Europhilism last?

'Suppose a man be carried, whilst fast asleep, into a room where there is a person he longs to see and speak with; and be there locked fast in ... he awakes, and is glad to find himself in so desirable company, which he stays willingly in ... I ask, is not this stay voluntary? I think nobody will doubt it: and yet, being locked fast in, it is evident ... he has not freedom to be gone.' Happy in a room he cannot leave, the man John Locke imagined during his musings on free will might almost be a metaphor for contemporary Spain in the European Union. Awakening from the long sleep of Franco’s dictatorship, the Spanish people were delighted to find themselves in the EU where they had always wanted to be and where their country is now locked fast into the Eurozone.

Spain’s anarchists are rioting

Michael Bakunin, the 19th century revolutionary Russian anarchist, identified Spain as the place where his creed was most likely to take root. In 1868, to get the ball rolling, Bakunin dispatched his disciple, Giuseppi Fanelli, to Spain. After some difficulty in raising the money for his train fare, Fanelli finally arrived in Madrid where he was introduced to a small group of printers who attended a working-class educational institute. Although Fanelli spoke only Italian and French and most of the print workers spoke only Spanish, his address made a dramatic impact. A shortage of money meant Fanelli could not stay long but he left behind copies of Bakunin's speeches. These were carefully studied and enthusiasm for anarchy was soon spreading like wild-fire through Spain.

Catalonia’s grievance culture

‘Scotland,’ declared the Times in 1856, is ‘manifestly a country in want of a grievance.’ The same could be said of Catalonia, which held regional elections this week. Catalonia spent much of the nineteenth century adding to its store of grievances. In 1885 a deputation of politicians travelled to Madrid in a fruitless attempt to interest Spain’s government in a comprehensive list of their region’s ‘greuges’ (Catalan for grievances). A century later the post-Franco democratic settlement for Catalonia attempted to right these historical wrongs once and for all by granting the region unprecedented powers of self-government. Since then Catalonia’s autonomy has increased even further. Today, amongst other competencies, it has education powers, its own police force, health service, and radio and television channels.

Can Spain’s faith in the EU survive Covid?

According to ancient Moorish legend, when the world was created each land was given five wishes. Spain’s first four wishes – for clear skies, seas full of fish, good fruit, and beautiful women – were all granted, but the fifth, for good government, was denied on the grounds that to grant that too would create a paradise on earth. Certainly over the last couple of centuries, good government in Spain has tended to be conspicuous by its absence. Philosopher Ortega y Gasset summed up Spain’s tragic history and its desire to become more like the liberal democratic European countries in his famous phrase: 'Spain is the problem and Europe the solution.' It seems that many Spaniards agree: the European Union is widely regarded as an unquestionably good thing for Spain.

The dark art of playing world-class Scrabble

When the top players gathered in Torquay last year for the World Scrabble Tournament (this year’s contest should have been this week, but has been cancelled thanks to you-know-what), it was to use ‘words’ like these in their games: dzo, ch, foyned, ghi… Yep, that’s right; a whole lot of words that, let’s be frank about this, are not words. That’s why my spell-checker underlines them in red. The top players, you see, don’t win tournaments by being cleverer than the rest of us. They do it by memorising a long list of non-words so they can avoid the problems ordinary players encounter. With O I I I I U U on the rack, most of us would forfeit our turn while muttering something rude. But the top player finds a convenient H on the board in easy reach of a red triple-word square and plays hioi.

Will Spain’s nation of rogues comply with the curfew?

A few years ago, when I was in the queue to catch a plane, a Spanish lady caught me watching her as she surreptitiously removed a sticker from her hand luggage, which meant it would have been stored in the hold. ‘Los españoles somos muy pícaros’ (we Spaniards are real rogues) she told me with a smile of complicity and a rueful shake of the head. Spaniards sometimes point out with a touch of pride that it was their country which pioneered the picaresque novel – a literary genre which tells the story of an ingenious rascal who lives by his wits, sometimes on the wrong side of the law. My own experience is that Spaniards are no more rascally than other nationalities – but some of them like to think they are. In any event, they will have plenty of opportunities to rebel, now that a whole new raft of coronavirus laws and regulations have been introduced by the government this week, after it declared a national state of emergency.

Spain’s politics is fraying

'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.' Philosopher George Santayana’s dictum is starting to look more relevant than ever in Spain, the country of his birth. The political temperature in Madrid has risen sharply in recent weeks and the language politicians are using has become unmistakably bellicose. The casual observer might almost be forgiven for wondering momentarily if we’re back in 1936, with politicians limbering up for a re-run of Spain’s civil war. The opposition has accused the left-wing government of using Covid restrictions as 'a political weapon' and of enforcing the Madrid lockdown 'at gunpoint'. Political parties criticise each other for retreating to their respective 'bunkers' and launching attacks from 'their trenches'.

Spain’s bureaucracy may not survive Covid

Sancho Panza’s long-cherished ambition was to become a politician. He wanted to be installed as governor of an island; Don Quixote had led him to believe that this was the reward a loyal squire could expect to receive from the knight errant he had served. Attractive opportunities to move into government increased dramatically for Spain’s latter-day Sanchos after the death of Franco; almost overnight one of Europe’s most centralised nations became a quasi-federal state with 17 autonomous communities. Each of these 17 regions has its own parliament and government and well-paid politicians. The head of the autonomous community of Catalonia, for example, has a salary of €153,000 (£138,500) a year and can look forward to a generous pension.

Does Catalonia really want independence?

In 1714, after a long siege, Spain managed to regain control of Barcelona after the War of Spanish Succession. Catalan nationalists point to the day Barcelona fell, 11 September 1714, as the point when Madrid began to strip their homeland of its ancient privileges, and three centuries of subjugation and repression began. To remind everyone of the importance of the year 1714, Barcelona fans chant in favour of independence for Catalonia when the Camp Nou football stadium clock shows that 17 minutes and 14 seconds of a match have passed. Meanwhile the day itself, 11 September, is commemorated every year as La Diada (‘The Day’), Catalonia’s national day. In most of Spain’s 17 autonomous regions, annual fiestas celebrate something positive, a victory or triumph of some kind.

Spain’s summer is well and truly cancelled

In villages and cities throughout Spain, the annual Fiesta of The Assumption is celebrated in great style on 15 August. But not this year. This year in most places the processions through the streets, the communal meals, the street theatre, the romerías (excursions to the local shrine), the craft fairs, the bell-ringing, the open-air dances, the annual football match against the neighbouring village, the clay pigeon shooting, the bull-running, the bullfights, the open-air chess tournament, the card game championships, the children’s drawing competition, the fairs, the firecrackers, the fireworks, and the all-night carousing are all cancelled. 'After all, there’s not much to celebrate this year,' said the vice president of the Castile-León region as he made official what everyone already knew: the party’s over.

Juan Carlos’ exile may not save the Spanish monarchy

In the ‘bad bank’ model, a bank protects itself by dumping its toxic assets onto a second, newly-created institution. By taking the problems off its books, the first bank hopes to restore its reputation and financial health so that it will be able to carry on business as usual. The Spanish monarchy has just carried out an analogous operation. The 82-year-old former king, Juan Carlos I, who reigned for 38 years until his abdication in 2014, has gone into exile because, as he explains in his farewell letter, of the ‘public repercussions of certain episodes in my private life’. The ‘episodes’ have included ongoing investigations into a gift of £77m he is alleged to have received from the previous king of Saudi Arabia.

Can Spain stomach another lockdown?

'Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you got 'til it’s gone?' sang Joni Mitchell. In the Spanish city of Zaragoza, people certainly know what they all too briefly had and what they’re now missing. Thanks to Covid-19, over the last few months they’ve gone from having a busy bustling city to not having it, to having it again and now back to not having it once more. Like all Spanish cities, Zaragoza is normally a vibrant social centre with bars and restaurant terraces every few yards, with parks and plazas full of life where people meet, children play and everybody seems to talk at the same time. Lockdown brought all that vitality to an abrupt halt. In a country where two-thirds of the people live in flats, many of which measure 60 square metres or less, Spain’s draconian lockdown restrictions required adults and children to stay inside for weeks.

Spain faces its own Brussels conundrum

The north tower of Malaga cathedral stands nearly 300 feet high. The south tower doesn’t. According to the plaque at its foot, the funds originally destined for its completion were instead diverted to help the rebels fight against the British in the American war of independence. Whenever I look at that south tower – well, what there is of it – I’m reminded of the anti-Brexit tirades of El País. El País is one of Spain’s leading national dailies. Founded in 1976 as democracy was returning to Spain, it prides itself on being a serious, centre-left newspaper which, like Spain itself, has always been staunchly pro-EU. Usually warmly appreciative of British culture, it’s nevertheless frequently critical of British governments.

Could Felipe be the last king of Spain?

With a huge Covid-induced economic crisis looming, many Spaniards are wondering if, through no fault of their own, they are about to lose their jobs. Among them is King Felipe VI. It’s not that Felipe has done much wrong in his brief reign. Indeed in many ways he has been that historical rarity – a Spanish Bourbon who takes his duties seriously. But there’s a chance that he might soon become the innocent victim of the dynasty’s many shortcomings, and in particular the declining reputation of his father. Felipe came to the throne in 2014 when his father, Juan Carlos I, worried about his growing unpopularity, abdicated. In 2012, an embarrassing photo emerged of Juan Carlos on safari in Botswana standing in triumph over a dead elephant, despite being a leading figure in the World Wildlife Fund.

Coronavirus, Spexit and the remarkable rise of Vox

Eladio’s bar on the outskirts of Avila in central Spain has splendid views of the ancient town’s medieval walls. It also has a remarkable collection of Francoist memorabilia. Indeed, the whole bar is a shrine to the memory of the dictator who ruled Spain with an iron fist from 1939 until his death in 1975. It’s not just the photographs and posters; even the names of the tapas celebrate the Falange and the ‘glorious victory’ over the ‘communist hordes’ in Spain’s Civil War. No one who enters the bar is likely to be shocked by any of this; the facade is painted with a huge Spanish flag visible from afar. ‘Everyone knows what they’re coming to,’ says Eladio, the proprietor, with evident pride. Not surprisingly the bar is very popular with supporters of Vox, Spain’s new hard-right political party.

Spain’s fiendishly complex rules for easing the lockdown

Once upon a time, when travel was still allowed, I checked into a small hotel in back-of-beyond Extremadura, in South-West Spain. The receptionist asked for my passport, I searched my pockets in vain, went to look in the car and then remembered that I’d left it on the table at home. 'Well, your national identity card then.' 'We British,' I replied 'don’t have identity cards.' She stared at me. 'If you don’t have identity cards … how do you know who you are?' Leaving the house just got a lot more complicated in Spain. As of Saturday there are a whole raft of new rules to obey. After 48 days of strict confinement – proper lockdown – millions of adult Spaniards (and me) are finally allowed out for a walk, fresh air and exercise.

Spain faces a political reckoning after its coronavirus crisis

Here in Spain we have proper lockdown. We're not ‘allowed out once a day for exercise’ over here. ‘You Brits don’t get it,’ my neighbour chuckled over the wall. ‘You’re teetotallers – apart from a glass of whisky every day,’ he continued. ‘You say, “Brexit means Brexit”. Well, lockdown means lockdown!’ But even though we have ‘proper’ lockdown, he and I can’t complain. We live in Avila in central Spain. From our houses we have beautiful views of the town’s medieval walls and ancient cathedral, and beyond to the snow-capped mountains. Most Spaniards live in flats but we have gardens and patios. I step out every now and then to sniff the lavender and sage to check that the loss-of-smell symptom hasn’t suddenly set in (all good so far, thanks).

Today

Tuesday

Wednesday

Sunday

Tuesday

Monday

Saturday

Thursday

Monday

Friday

Monday

Tuesday

Tuesday

Tuesday

Monday

Monday

Monday

Friday

Monday

Monday