Iberia (66 page)

 

I asked what technical form the government would take after
Franco’s departure, but the man to whom I spoke was not
interested in so specific a question. ‘The Damoclean question is
quite different,’ he said. ‘What is labor going to do? The other
night I watched you in the hotel lobby when that disgraceful
television program came on. The one where the government
reporter asked fifty day laborers what they thought about Spain’s
system of controlling labor unions. And each of the fifty came to
the microphone and said, like a parrot, “I think the syndicates
are wonderful because they protect the working man.” You were
embarrassed and looked at me to see if I was too. I didn’t want
to express myself in public, so I kept staring at the television and
that preposterous parade. I felt humiliated. Because you knew
and I knew that at the slightest spark those fifty workmen would
ignite and blast that damned-fool government man right into
oblivion. I wouldn’t like to guess right now what role labor will
play. If the army, backed up by the Church and the landed
families, tries to imprison all labor in the national syndicate much
longer, there’s got to be trouble. But the liberal wing of the Church
knows this, and if it attains power it will press for a freer labor
law. When this happens Spain will move to a position similar to
Italy’s or Germany’s.’

 

In a different part of Spain I asked a group of workmen what
they thought on this question. ‘You’re going to see strikes all over
Spain. We’ve been told for the past twenty-five years that the loss
of some of our freedom wasn’t too high a price to pay for national
solidarity and peace. So we paid it, and all we got was solidarity
and peace. The good things went to the rich, and the Church and
the army. We got damned little. Now we have to adjust the
balance.’

 

After this discussion of five fields—the controlling trio of
Church, army, landed families plus industrial leadership and
labor—I returned to my original question: ‘What will happen
when Franco goes?’ and a government official said something
that should be remembered: ‘You speak as if you thought
Generalísimo Franco sat in his office and personally passed all
laws. How do you suppose Spain has been governed for the last
fifteen years? By a committee, of whom Franco is the most
powerful. Much of our government moves forward without
involving Franco. He’s invaluable as the symbol around which
we coalesce. And he can both initiate and veto. But Spain without
Franco would still exist. It would have to. So after he’s gone I
personally suppose that things will continue pretty much as they
have in the past. Our great loss will be in a symbol around which
to rally. That poses a real problem, but the government per se
will go right on.’

 

‘Without trouble?’ I asked.

 

‘Without revolution, if that’s what you mean.’

 

A dozen times, a hundred times I heard reassurances like this
and always I pressed to the logical consequences, asking, ‘Then
you think the transition at Franco’s death will be peaceful?’ Almost
without exception the Spaniards replied, ‘Once before, we had
civil war and we know what that means. Almost any price we
might have to pay to avoid rebellion would be worth it.’ When I
pressed further to identify what ‘any price’ would include, the
typical answer was, ‘We don’t insist on free elections…or the
two-party system…or this king or that…or who actually takes
Franco’s place in the palace. But a better social justice than we
have now…that we do insist on.’ I asked what would happen if
it were denied, and the answer of a man in Pamplona can stand
as typical: ‘If the army and the Church tried to deny us social
justice I suppose we’d have to fight.’

 

Back in Madrid, I returned to my earlier question: ‘What kind
of government?’

 

‘It’s got to be a continuation of the oligarchy. Once Spain is
agreed on that, and I think we are so agreed, then the precise form
doesn’t matter too much. But to the outside world it’s pretty
important. The choice is between a dictatorship of some kind or
other or a restoration of the monarchy. I believe it will be the
monarchy. After all, our constitution states that we are a
monarchy and Franco has openly announced that he serves merely
as caretaker for that monarchy. There would be an advantage to
us in having a king again, because it would make us popular in
England and the United States, both of whom love royalty. I
suppose nothing we could do would make us more acceptable in
the States.’

 

I asked which of the two claimants, whose conflicting chances
I had become acquainted with in the picture gallery at the Coto
Donaña, would probably be appointed the next king. ‘Ah, but
there are three pretenders! We must choose among three.’ I said
that I knew about Don Juan, the legitimate heir living in exile in
Portugal and very unpopular with Franco. And I had met his son
Don Juan Carlos, living in Spain and popular with Franco. Who
was the third? ‘A carry-over from the Carlist Wars of the last
century. The Carlist pretender…Don Hugo Carlos, who married
that pretty Dutch princess who changed from Lutheran to
Catholic. I think they live in Paris, and sometimes you see his
name as Carlos Hugo, because he only added the name Carlos
for effect and we aren’t sure whether it goes in front or back. He’s
a poor third in the running but he does claim the throne and
many support him.’ When I asked which of the three would win,
my informant bit his lip for some moments and said, ‘Some time
ago Franco authorized Vice-President Muñoz Grandes to conduct
a secret poll among the military leaders and to everyone’s surprise
they favored bringing back Don Juan from Portugal…even though
Franco had said he didn’t want him. I understand the generalísimo
was irritated by the vote, but in my judgment it was right. I know
young Juan Carlos quite well and he’s a weak sort. Maybe when
he’s fifty he’ll be strong enough to govern. So I say give the throne
to his father now and give the boy time to grow up. I was in Sevilla
when he was presented to the aristocracy of Andalucía and he cut
a poor figure.’ (Since the taking of this poll Muñoz Grandes has
been succeeded in the vice-presidency by Admiral Luis Carrero
Blanco, a sixty-four-year-old conservative.)

 

However, an American businessman who had participated in
an extended series of negotiations in which Juan Carlos took part
gave this report: ‘A most attractive young man with everything
he needs in order to reign. By that I mean good looks, a beautiful
wife and fine children. He has the manners required for public
functions and more than enough intelligence to discharge the
duties of a constitutional monarch. Spain will be lucky if he’s the
one chosen.’

 

I asked if having a king once more would mean much to
Spaniards. ‘The fact that the extreme right is so strongly in favor
of it makes me have doubts. But Spain is a very difficult country
to govern, and I think that having a continuing symbol which
remains above politics might give us help. You read our papers.
You see how we play up the successes of nations with royalty.
Denmark, Greece, Norway, especially England. We are told year
after year, “Countries with kings are happy. Those without are
miserable.” Believe me, since the Estados Unidos installed
Jacqueline Kennedy as a kind of queen, your popularity in Spain
has risen considerably.’

 

To the outsider it is perplexing that so many elements in Spain
should remain so loyal to an institution that has served her so
poorly. For a monarchy to produce a superior form of
government, it must discharge certain technical functions, and
the British and Danish monarchies, which Spaniards so often cite
in defense of the system, have done so, but not the Spanish.
Monarchy should provide an unbroken sequence of leadership;
but twice in Spain the royal family died out, subjecting the country
to the perils of a contested inheritance in which foreign powers
become involved. It should provide for an orderly transfer of
power at the death of a ruler; but in Spain numerous wars of
succession have resulted when the inheritance was questionable,
as in 1475, 1520, 1700, 1835 and 1875, to name only a few. It
should unite the population behind a symbol; but in Spain it has
had the opposite effect, as in the savage divisions of the Carlist
period. And it should provide competent if not brilliant
leadership; but in Spain it has thrice propelled mental defectives
to the throne, as in the case of Juana la Loca, Don Carlos, son of
Felipe II, and Carlos the Bewitched, and on numerous occasions
it has installed protracted regencies, as in the case of Isabel II and
Alfonso XIII. In spite of such a delinquent record, Spain today
looks sanguinely to the reestablishment of her monarchy, even
though the new trial will begin with three different men
contending for the throne. To prophesy success for such a shaky
venture requires hope rather than logic.

 

One Spaniard spoke for the many who had doubts: ‘It’s one
thing to keep a royal family installed in a country like Denmark,
which already has it. Quite another to introduce a king into a
nation which doesn’t. If Spain brings back a nonentity like Juan
Carlos he’ll rule for about twelve years. He’ll side with the landed
families, meddle in government and be disciplined by the army,
which will then establish a dictatorship in the Primo de Rivera
mold. I see no merit whatever in reviving the monarchy.’ I asked
him what alternative he saw, and he said, ‘A one-party state, with
liberal safeguards. Power in the hands of a cabinet, pretty much
as we have now. More and more, the leaders are coming from the
new industrialists. What I’m saying is, a continuation of what we
have now with logical improvements.’

 

Another man explained the prevalence of articles favorable to
the monarchy: ‘A whole lot of Spaniards visualize the return of
the monarchy as a chance for them to shine in an archaic court
life. They see the peasants kowtowing to them, carriages drawing
up with footmen, titles and prerogatives, castles and sweeping
gowns, as if that was what Spain needed today. So they support
the concept with articles and books in hopes that when the
restoration comes they’ll have a part in the court life, no matter
how trivial.’

 

Three different men in three scattered parts of Spain pointed
out something I had not formulated for myself. To lead into the
generalization they reiterated a truth which I already knew. ‘It’s
a sad fact that during the nineteenth century no Spanish-speaking
country on earth learned how to govern itself effectively by a
system of ballots. We’re a people of such mercurial temperament
that the two-party system is quite beyond our capacity to handle.
Spanish countries require a one-party state, something perhaps
like Mexico’s, although I deplore her attitude toward religion.’
Then came the surprise. ‘You norteamericanos haven’t liked
Franco, but have you noticed how many travelers to South
America report that they were told in Argentina or Uruguay or
Bolivia, “What we need here is a Generalísimo Franco”? Believe
me, when people from South America see how we achieved
balance and peace for more than a quarter of a century, they yearn
for the kind of stable government we have.’ In succeeding months
I watched the Spanish newspapers, which carried numerous stories
of this type; many were suspect, because Spanish newspapers
subservient to the Franco regime had sponsored the reporters
who had dug up the quotes, but others appeared to be authentic.
A good many South Americans, lost in the political confusion
that seems to be the Spanish heritage, hungered for the hard, tight
kind of rule Franco had provided the mother country.

 

In Barcelona I heard a cautionary report. ‘This country is a
boiling pot with the lid wired down. Coal continues to be thrown
on the stove. Heat continues to generate. And the pressure of
steam does not diminish. The army and the Church are going to
try to keep the lid clamped down, but they’re not going to succeed.
I do not think we can avoid major trouble when Franco goes.’

 

Earlier I reported that whenever I asked the question ‘What
will happen when Franco goes?’ almost without exception my
Spanish friends replied that the transition would be both
uneventful and peaceful; but when I got to know these people
better, sometimes at night or after a long ride, it was they who
raised the permanent question that hung over Spain: ‘Do you
suppose there will be some kind of civil war?’ Apparently the
problem was much discussed in private. I shall specify the types
of persons whose answers I summarize.

 

A top intellectual from Cádiz: ‘We’ve had twenty-five years of
peace. It’s been a boon only an idiot would destroy. There will be
no war.’

 

A seminary student from Valencia: ‘The Church is so advanced
in its social thinking that you wouldn’t believe what we discuss
among ourselves. There is no need for war against the Church
and there will be none.’

 

Spokesman for a group of students in Barcelona: ‘I am worried.
I see no sign that the government appreciates how determined
the young people of Spain are to have more freedom. If we are
refused it, there can be only one result. War is a possibility, but I
pray that the government will see reason and take the simple steps
necessary to avert it.’

 

A rancher in Extremadura: ‘Let the Communists try. We
learned how to handle them last time.’

 

A strong anti-Communist in Córdoba: ‘I am frankly afraid. If
there were serious trouble, or even war, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Our government hasn’t done enough to win the working people
over to our side. I see many signs that worry me.’

 

A government official in Madrid: ‘War would be
impossible…impossible. Can you imagine what the last one was
like? No one would plunge this country into a repetition of that.’