by Tony Kevin
The Constitution is based on the indissoluble unity of the Spanish Nation, the common and indivisible homeland of all Spaniards; it recognises and guarantees the right to self-government of the nationalities and regions of which it is composed and the solidarity among them all.
This wording acknowledges the fact that Spain is composed of nationalities and regions, and affirms their right to self-government; but it frames this assertion within an even stronger statement affirming the unity of the ‘Spanish Nation’ (note the significance of the upper case letters here), and the solidarity of all the nationalities and regions. Spain is to be at the same time both one united nation, and composed of self-governing peoples, nationalities, and regions.
It is all a bit like the mystery of the Holy Trinity: Three Persons in One God, incomprehensible by pure reason alone and requiring a great leap of faith.
Originally, the framers of the 1978 Constitution had envisaged Spain would be a largely unitary State, except for three self-governing comunidades autónomas (autonomous communities) in those regions in Spain that were understood to be the most historically and culturally distinct from the rest of the country: Catalonia, the Basque Country, and Galicia. The evident contradictions in the text were intended to accommodate these three particular national aspirations within Spain. Such autonomous communities were authorised by Article 143(1):
In the exercise of the right to self-government recognised in Article 2 of the Constitution, bordering provinces with common historic, cultural and economic characteristics, island territories and provinces with historic regional status may accede to self-government and form Autonomous Communities in conformity with the provisions contained in this Title and in the respective Statutes.
However, this Article did not prevent other regions from choosing to form autonomous communities, too. Interestingly and unexpectedly, over the four years from 1979 to 1983, all the provinces of Spain did so, combining themselves into seventeen autonomous regions: Andalucia, Aragon, Asturias, Balearic Islands, Basque Country, Canary Islands, Cantabria, Castilla-La Mancha, Castilla y León, Catalonia, Extremadura, Galicia, Madrid, Murcia, Navarre, La Ríoja, and Valencia. Spain became, de facto if not in original intent, a federal system.
Motives varied. Regions with their own strong latent identity, like Andalucia and Valencia, were keen to test new possibilities for their expanded autonomy. Other more conservative regions that initially simply saw themselves as simply Spanish (for example, Extremadura and the two Castiles) might have decided they had to follow suit if they were to avoid the risk of being left behind in a centralist rump Spain, while wealthier regions opted for autonomy, draining political and economic weight and the tax base away from an increasingly weak and impoverished centre. It became a case of ‘one in, all in’.
Each of these seventeen autonomous communities has a different degree and form of autonomy. There has been an asymmetric devolution of power from the centre to the periphery, with some autonomous community governments wanting a more federalist relationship with the centre, and others remaining closer to the original national-central model. It is all quite confusing. For instance, some regions have set up their own law codes, educational and health systems (albeit loosely coordinated by the central government), and their own co-official language alongside Spanish (Catalan, Basque, Galician). Others accept Castilian Spanish as their language of governance and stick pretty closely to ‘national’ models of law, education, and health.
This devolution of power in Spain from the centre to regional governments is still an unfinished dynamic process, whose end-point cannot be known. Conservative pessimists regularly complain in newspaper opinion columns and letters that it could lead to the dissolution of Spain. Others argue that Spain will be all the stronger if it allows free expression to democratic regionalist aspirations. Acts of devolution might in theory be revoked by a future national government in Madrid, but most Spaniards see the process as a one-way street. While I was in Spain, Andalusians joyfully celebrated a further advance in their region’s autonomy that was approved by the national parliament. But Castilian and Extremaduran newspapers expressed concern that Andalucia was going too far, too fast. Politics is never dull in Spain.
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Over the two decades after the first 1977 election, the Rightist parties re-organised. Most of the UCD merged with the AP, and the new party in 1989 renamed itself the People’s Party (PP). The PP thus became the party of the Centre-Right. It has been described as a broad umbrella coalition of Centre-Right, conservative, Christian Democrat, liberal, and popularist elements. Spain now has a stable two-party system, with voters offered a choice of two strong Centrist parties, the PP or PSOE, representing Centre-Right and Centre-Left orientations respectively. Essentially, these two parties set the terms of the national debate.
In the second national election in 1982, the PSOE won an absolute majority — an event which many saw as the final defeat of Spanish fascism, because it proved that the party which Franco had destroyed by force in his 1936 rebellion had democratically regained power in Spain forty-six years later. The PSOE governed Spain for the next thirteen years to 1995 — years that defined the political shape of modern Spain. Spain joined NATO in 1982, and the European Community (Union) in 1986. These were also the years of greatest activity in devolving powers to the regions.
Then the PP, led by José María Aznar, gained power in the 1996 election. Aznar moved to liberalise and privatise the economy. Spain greatly strengthened its military cooperation with NATO and the US, taking part in military operations in the former Yugoslavia. After the PP was re-elected in 2000, Aznar consolidated Spain’s international role as the US’s staunchest ally (with Britain) in Europe in the new US-led war on terror. In May 2003, defying majority public opinion, Aznar sent 1500 Spanish troops to take part in the US-led Iraq occupation. For the 2004 election, Aznar’s deputy, Maríano Rajoy, replaced him as the People’s Party candidate.
In the aftermath of the 11 March terrorist bomb attacks in Madrid, the PP lost the 2004 election. The PSOE, led by José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero, got 43.3 per cent — a decisive 5 per cent margin over the PP’s 38.3 per cent. Voters, angered by the PP’s attempt to falsely lay the blame for the train bombings on Basque separatists, in spite of police evidence already known to the government (which was trying to deny any link to the war on terror), embraced with relief Zapatero’s long-standing election promise to bring Spanish troops home from Iraq: the PSOE had from the start condemned the invasion and military occupation as internationally illegal.
Zapatero faces a new election in 2008. He will probably win again: he has established himself as a quietly charismatic, cautious leader with an attractively low-key style and great skill in navigating the treacherous shoals of devolution politics, who is seeking a lasting settlement of the Basque separatist problem. Zapatero was born in 1960 to a well-off family with a long history of left-wing politics. His father, Juan Rodríguez García-Lozano, was a prominent lawyer. His paternal grandfather, Juan Rodríguez Lozano, was a Republican Army captain, killed by Nationalists during the Civil War. Philip Pettit, an Irish political philosopher, praises Zapatero as Europe’s most successful ‘Third Way’ politician, well balanced philosophically between Right and Left. From what I saw of Zapatero, that is a fair judgement.
The PP under Rajoy seems still to be floundering, discredited and confused by the events of 2004 and yet to offer a credible, alternative, forward-looking agenda. Rajoy comes across negatively as a stiff, rather peevish politician. On devolution and the Basque issue, the PP’s platform is essentially nay-saying and fear-mongering, appealing to more conservative views that devolution risks destroying Spain as a nation, and that Basque terrorists have been rewarded by being invitted to negotiate with the national government. The PP has similarly conservative views on immigration and on the need to improve relations with the Bush administration in the US. I did not detect much pub
lic sympathy for such views — the PP seems, at least for the time being, to have lost touch with the majority mood of the electorate.
Controversially, Rupert Murdoch’s News Corporation has employed José María Aznar as a lobbyist since 2004, paying him a consultancy fee of 120,000 euros per annum. Aznar continues to serve (ex officio as a former prime minister) as a member of the Council of State, the highest consultative organ of the Spanish government. This council has no executive functions or powers — it performs as a constitutional advisory panel of experts.
Under both Centre-Right and Centre-Left governments, the Crown remains a much-loved and respected national institution, now effectively above politics and valued for its reassuring stability. I never met anyone in Spain calling for a Republic. No doubt republicans do still exist, but not in politically significant numbers any more. The style of the Spanish monarchy is more formal and akin to the British style than the homely Scandinavian–Low Countries ‘bicycle’ monarchies. But it is not beset by the kinds of family scandals that have wreaked havoc in the British royal family. King Juan Carlos never identified himself with the far Right. He has always behaved scrupulously in accordance with the constitution, and his family life is scandal-free. He married in 1962 to Princess Sophia of Greece and Denmark, daughter of King Paul. She was Greek Orthodox, but converted to Catholicism to become Spain’s Queen. They had two daughters, Elena and Christina; and a son, the heir apparent, Prince Felipe, born in 1968. The Spanish royal family is a success story in every way: the British royal family must wish it was so lucky.
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Spain’s history prior to 1975 offers ample proof of Lord Acton’s maxim that ‘power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely’. After Franco, there is a determination in Spain that political power must be structurally distributed among many players and levels of government. A key characteristic of Spanish fascism was its extreme centralisation of power, all flowing upwards to one leader, Franco. In sharp contrast, the key concepts of modern Spanish democratic politics seem to be, first, maximum separation of powers through devolution of power to the autonomous communities and on down to provinces and local districts; and second, adherence to a political style of scrupulous civility, including towards opponents. Underpinning these concepts is a strong community value that ultimately, politics is local. National politics comes a long way down the list of importance, after the politics of your pueblo, district, province, and region. The devolved structures that have been established in Spain make it hard to conceive of any national leader, no matter how ruthless or well-resourced or charismatic, ever acquiring such power as Franco once had again.
I saw a work of public art in front of Salamanca’s main post office that strikingly symbolised these kinds of political ideas: a large bronze sculpture called ‘The Spanish Constitution’. It is a framework of four open-ribbed quadripedal pyramids, one sitting inside the other, like a Russian matryoschka doll. All the pyramids are free-standing — they are not connected, except by a web of joining rods at the base. The political message was clear — these are the four levels of Spanish government (local, provincial, regional, national), all independent of one another, but all resting on a united Spanish people at the base.
The Spanish newspaper industry reflects and reinforces this decentralised and power-sharing political culture. There is a healthy diversity of national newspapers in Spain, with editorial slants inclined to either Centre-Left or Centre-Right. National newspapers come out in separate regional or provincial editions. I could buy the same-name national newspapers in Andalucia, Extremadura, Castile, or Galicia. In Extremadura, there were even different editions for the cities of Mérida, Cáceres, and Plasencia (in the north). There is not a separate tier of regional, provincial, or local newspapers: the national newspaper in its local edition covers all levels of news and advertising. And here is another interesting thing: to get to national, international, and business news, one has to turn to the middle pages of these thick newspapers. The front and back sets of pages are packed with local and regional news, local cultural events, local business and advertising, and local sport. The front-page headlines are usually to do with regional news, unless there is a major national event such as the Valencia train-crash disaster in July 2006. Political reporting is mostly local-centred and human-centred.
Another thing — there is nowhere near the same media fascination with the sayings and doings of national political leaders, nothing like the personalisation of leadership politics that many Western countries now regard as normal reporting. I had to hunt for stories about the prime minister or the opposition leader in Spanish newspapers.
There is much less national opinion polling, much less sense of a national electorate obsessively taking its own temperature all the time. Spanish voters seem more interested in the substance of political debates than in process, personalities, and spin. There is plenty of political opinion commentary, but it seems more serious than much of what passes as political commentary in Anglophone countries, which is often more about looking for ‘an angle’ on news rather than discussing the news as such.
Spanish politics is scrupulously courteous. I hope Spain can hold on to this. Spanish politicians know why civility in politics is essential. There was great verbal violence, name-calling, and angry words in the bitter years leading up to the Civil War. Spaniards saw then how verbal violence blunts inhibitions against physical violence, and how the way politicians speak to and about their opponents really does matter.
It seems to me that these are the political characteristics of a successful and mature civil society, from which Anglophone countries might learn something. Spain went through huge bloodshed and cruelty to reach the political place where it is now: it seems a good place to be.
If the Civil War was, as Antony Beevor suggests, about three ideological conflicts — Left versus Right, centralism versus regionalism, and liberalism versus military-clerical authoritarianism — Franco’s victory was in the end a hollow one. Modern Spain, under PSOE rule, is ‘Third Way’ Centre-Left, regionalist, and liberal-pluralist. When the chronic Basque autonomy issue is finally settled by a historic compromise — and it seems to be moving that way now — the last traces of the bitter enmities that provoked the Civil War will be gone. And Spain has sensibly withdrawn from the excesses of Bush’s war on terror. It is a country, blessedly, at peace with itself and with the world.
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In Mérida, on a large patio in front of the Extremadura Autonomous Community regional parliament building, surrounded by potted cumquat trees with glistening green leaves and laden with ripe orange fruit, I saw a remarkably powerful sculpture, 23 Años, celebrating the twenty-three years of 1983–2006 since the Assembly of Extremadura, the autonomous region’s parliament, was set up. It was an array of twenty-three freestanding white louvre doors, all hinged and open, with one word painted on each side of each door. The first door had two sculpted hands on it, one opening the doorknob from each side — the symbolism being that both Left and Right parties must work together to keep the doors of Spanish democracy open. Here are the words on the twenty-three doors:
Reconciliación reconciliation
Integración integration
Impreso form, due process
Igualidad equality
Educación education
Cultura culture
Realidad reality
Prosperidad prosperity
Esfuerzo effort
Dedicación dedication
Autonomía autonomy
Estabilidad stability
Eficacia effectiveness
Amistad friendship
Consideración consideration
Ayuda help
Objetividad objectivity
Concordia concord
Transparencia transparency
Claridad clarity
Responsabilidad responsibility
Exigencia demand
Equidad fairness
Eficiencia efficiency
Trabajo work
Etica ethics
Entendimiento understanding
Respeto respect
Paz peace
Libertad freedom
Democracia democracy
Dialogo dialogue
Pacto agreement
Justicia justice
Oportunidad opportunity
Solidaridad solidarity
Negociación negotiation
Apoyo support
Unidad unity
Lealtad loyalty
Identidad identity
Gestion management
Fidelidad fidelity
Experiencia experience
The meaning is clear — this is an exhaustive list of Spanish democratic values. But it was the contextual symbolism of the doors that impressed me. These are doors that people are being invited to walk through, as I did, not to look at from a respectful or uninvolved distance. The work thus suggests that healthy democratic politics involves active participation by citizens, and that citizens must know what the values of the state are. The doors are all open, not locked. They are light and fragile, easily overturned by clumsy or violent movements. They follow each other in an orderly progression — values complementing and reinforcing other related values. The words are written on both sides of the doors — there is no Right or Left side, no right or wrong side, to these doors.
I saw this work as a brilliant exercise in symbolist art, setting out the values of the contemporary democratic pluralist Spain that I found. But nowhere in Mérida or anywhere else in Spain did I come across the loaded, over-arching phrase ‘Spanish values’. Those words, tainted by their misuse by Spanish fascists, are not part of mainstream Spanish political language any more.
