Turning Point
The transition of power is never completely smooth, whatever some might say. Especially not when power is transferred from a dictatorship to a flawed, but functioning, democracy. Francisco Franco, Spain's Generalísimo, died on 20 November, 1975. He left things tidied up. The grandson of the King who had fled at the beginning of the Republic that Franco had defeated, would inherit the country's leadership. Juan Carlos I had been carefully tutored by Franco to continue the dictatorship, albeit now as a monarchy.
But the new King knew that that was not what the country wanted. To avoid another civil war, he started the transition to a democracy. It was welcome by most. But not everyone was happy. There were extreme leftists who wanted a more-than-Soviet-style state, the GRAPO (Grupos de Resistencia Antifascista Primero de Octubre), who were actively kidnapping for ransom, robbing banks, and killing those they considered politically worthwhile. Then there were the remains of Franco's admirers, who wanted things to remain as they were.
These were much involved in controlling public transport. They didn't want to allow the unionization of the workers, who had started to demand union representation to better their working conditions. (Considering public transportation one of the backbones of his state, and remembering their support of the Republic, Franco had always kept its workers under a very strong thumb.) The workers had gone on strike in the last months of 1976, and had achieved their wish to unionize. They had been helped by lawyers representing one of the largest unions, Comisiones Obreras.
Those lawyers specialized in labor law, and some of them belonged to the still-illegal Communist Party of Spain (PCE). The Fascists, who were seeing their power disintegrating beneath their feet, took matters into their own hands. Three men showed up at their office, situated on 55 Calle Atocha in Madrid, on 24 January, 1977. One of them cut the phone wires down by the door, and the other two went up. There they asked specifically for the Secretary General of the Transport Union, Joaquín Navarro. He wasn't there because he had gone down for a coffee break. The two men decided to open fire all the same. Five lawyers were killed, Enrique Valdelvira, Luís Javier Benavides, Javier Sauquillo, Serafín Holgado, and Ángel Rodríguez Leal. Four more were wounded. Another lawyer who escaped the carnage, Manuela Carmena, was at a meeting somewhere else. She is now the successful leftist mayor of Madrid.
What the gunmen hoped to provoke, more than anything else, was a spate of violence that would lead to martial law, whereupon the old center of power would retake control over the country, and the march to democracy turned around. What they ended up provoking was a complete and utter rejection of violence by the majority of Spaniards, those working on the Transition included. The funeral was widely followed, with the clandestine Communist party helping with security. Everyone was horrified by the massacre. Four months later, the Communist party was legalized. The next year the Spanish Socialist party and the Partido Nacionalista Vasco, as well. That was the last time the Fascists killed to prevent their erosion of power.
There was never a real investigation into who ordered the murders. In Spain the judges are the power that order an investigation, not the police. The judge handed this case was from the old school, and decided to only prosecute the material instigators. Four were condemned. One was the old head of the transport system, who was a member of the FET de las Jons, the Spanish Fascist party. Two of them escaped after being granted temporary permission to leave prison. One of them was never heard from again, the other is now languishing in a Bolivian prison for drug trafficking. One died in prison, the other is now living his life anonymously, working for a security firm.
January, 1977 was a turning point. History could have gone one way or the other at that moment. It could have gone forward, or it could have gone back to the Dark Ages. People who could have easily demanded vengeance decided to go forward. After this, the next test was Tejero's entrance into the Congress in an attempted coup in 1981. But the end result had been written four years earlier, when, after five innocent men were murdered, the public had decided the past was over and would not come back.
Yesterday was the fortieth anniversary. There was a gathering, and flowers were left at a statue honoring the lawyers. Outside of that, however, people are now forgetting about this recent history. When my daughter and I went to Madrid in 2015 for the AC/DC concert, we happened to be walking on Calle Atocha. We passed by a building with the door open, where workers were pulling supplies inside for a renovation going on. I happened to glance up and that was when I saw a plaque. It was a busy street with a narrow sidewalk and no one gave it a second glance. Yet we were standing outside the building where the Spanish democracy had been cemented. I mentioned it to my daughter, and she had no knowledge of it. No school history class had ever mentioned it. How easily we forget from one generation to the next.
But the new King knew that that was not what the country wanted. To avoid another civil war, he started the transition to a democracy. It was welcome by most. But not everyone was happy. There were extreme leftists who wanted a more-than-Soviet-style state, the GRAPO (Grupos de Resistencia Antifascista Primero de Octubre), who were actively kidnapping for ransom, robbing banks, and killing those they considered politically worthwhile. Then there were the remains of Franco's admirers, who wanted things to remain as they were.
These were much involved in controlling public transport. They didn't want to allow the unionization of the workers, who had started to demand union representation to better their working conditions. (Considering public transportation one of the backbones of his state, and remembering their support of the Republic, Franco had always kept its workers under a very strong thumb.) The workers had gone on strike in the last months of 1976, and had achieved their wish to unionize. They had been helped by lawyers representing one of the largest unions, Comisiones Obreras.
Those lawyers specialized in labor law, and some of them belonged to the still-illegal Communist Party of Spain (PCE). The Fascists, who were seeing their power disintegrating beneath their feet, took matters into their own hands. Three men showed up at their office, situated on 55 Calle Atocha in Madrid, on 24 January, 1977. One of them cut the phone wires down by the door, and the other two went up. There they asked specifically for the Secretary General of the Transport Union, Joaquín Navarro. He wasn't there because he had gone down for a coffee break. The two men decided to open fire all the same. Five lawyers were killed, Enrique Valdelvira, Luís Javier Benavides, Javier Sauquillo, Serafín Holgado, and Ángel Rodríguez Leal. Four more were wounded. Another lawyer who escaped the carnage, Manuela Carmena, was at a meeting somewhere else. She is now the successful leftist mayor of Madrid.
What the gunmen hoped to provoke, more than anything else, was a spate of violence that would lead to martial law, whereupon the old center of power would retake control over the country, and the march to democracy turned around. What they ended up provoking was a complete and utter rejection of violence by the majority of Spaniards, those working on the Transition included. The funeral was widely followed, with the clandestine Communist party helping with security. Everyone was horrified by the massacre. Four months later, the Communist party was legalized. The next year the Spanish Socialist party and the Partido Nacionalista Vasco, as well. That was the last time the Fascists killed to prevent their erosion of power.
There was never a real investigation into who ordered the murders. In Spain the judges are the power that order an investigation, not the police. The judge handed this case was from the old school, and decided to only prosecute the material instigators. Four were condemned. One was the old head of the transport system, who was a member of the FET de las Jons, the Spanish Fascist party. Two of them escaped after being granted temporary permission to leave prison. One of them was never heard from again, the other is now languishing in a Bolivian prison for drug trafficking. One died in prison, the other is now living his life anonymously, working for a security firm.
January, 1977 was a turning point. History could have gone one way or the other at that moment. It could have gone forward, or it could have gone back to the Dark Ages. People who could have easily demanded vengeance decided to go forward. After this, the next test was Tejero's entrance into the Congress in an attempted coup in 1981. But the end result had been written four years earlier, when, after five innocent men were murdered, the public had decided the past was over and would not come back.
Yesterday was the fortieth anniversary. There was a gathering, and flowers were left at a statue honoring the lawyers. Outside of that, however, people are now forgetting about this recent history. When my daughter and I went to Madrid in 2015 for the AC/DC concert, we happened to be walking on Calle Atocha. We passed by a building with the door open, where workers were pulling supplies inside for a renovation going on. I happened to glance up and that was when I saw a plaque. It was a busy street with a narrow sidewalk and no one gave it a second glance. Yet we were standing outside the building where the Spanish democracy had been cemented. I mentioned it to my daughter, and she had no knowledge of it. No school history class had ever mentioned it. How easily we forget from one generation to the next.
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