Former Spanish PM Felipe González heckled in Segovia

Former Spanish PM Felipe González heckled in Segovia

Felipe González visited Segovia and was greeted by a group shouting "Fascists out of our city," according to a video circulated on social media. The incident reopens an uncomfortable question: who has the right to call whom a fascist in today's Spain, and what remains of the old division of labels between left and right?

What peine in Segovia and why the video is spreading

The scene is brief and has all the ingredients of a viral clip: a former socialist president, a group heckling him with the most serious accusation in the Spanish political playbook—fascist—and a response that does not seek to ease tension but to return it. "Fascists out of our city" is the slogan; participants in the conversation attribute to González the reply "that's you," without the material providing independent confirmation.

Context matters. González governed from 1982 to 1996 and his figure remains the main symbolic asset of the historic PSOE (Spanish Socialist Workers' Party). That the booing comes from sectors claiming to be left-wing, rather than from the right, is what makes the video inflammatory material. The accusation of fascism, which for decades served to point at the far right, has become a freely used projectile within the pogre camp itself.

"That's not a fascist, that's a traitor": the nuance that changes everything

The conversation quickly refines the insult. Some argue that the label is misplaced: "That's not a fascist, that's a traitor. They are different things." The distinction is not trivial. Fascist, in Spanish political vocabulary, implies a specific ideological affiliation; traitor implies an accusation of disloyalty to one's own, and that is what dominates the reproach. González allegedly betrayed the working class he claimed to represent.

The argument rests on an economic reading of his legacy: industrial restructuring, entry into the logic of temporary hiring, and the expansion of temporary work agencies. Part of the analysis holds that the former president embraced the liberal turn of the eighties and that this marked the Spanish labor market for subsequent decades. The accusation, formulated this way, is political and economic, not incivil.

The Doberman, the CIA, and the ghosts of the eighties

Old episodes reappear in the repertoire of grievances. The 1996 campaign is recalled, when the PSOE used the image of a Doberman as a metaphor for the right that would come if they were not voted for. Versions also circulate linking González with the CIA and the international context of the seventies, including Kissinger's visit and the death of Carrero Blanco. These are hypotheses repeated without documentary proof and should be treated as what they are: trench narrative, not judicial history.

What stands out is the tone. There is no defense of the former president in the bulk of the conversation. Even those who acknowledge his political skill do so reluctantly, comparing him with the current level: "almost a great statesman," it is even written, adding that the contemporary bar is so low that any figure from the past seems like a giant. Nostalgia works in both directions: some miss his corduroy jacket while others continue to send him the bill.

The working class that no longer pays contributions

The most repeated reproach is not against González, but against those heckling him. The accusation is of imposture: "The one talking about the working class looks like someone who hasn't paid a single day of contributions." This line argues that the working-class label has been emptied of material content and is used as an identity alibi by people who have never set foot in a factory or construction site.

It is the economic axis of the matter. The discussion about who represents workers today—whether unions, institutional left, or no one—has remained unresolved for years, and the Segovia episode puts it back on the table. The right to define who is a fascist is no longer exclusive to anyone.

A country where everyone is a fascist except one

The conclusion imposed in many comments is cynical: "Everyone is a fascist in this country." The label, used until exhaustion, has lost its edge. When it serves to point at a former socialist president and also at his critics, it stops describing an ideology and becomes a simple gesture of contempt.

The scene remains. An older man, heckled in the street, who instead of ignoring the shout returns it, according to the circulating account. And a city, Segovia, turned for a few hours into the stage of a fight that is not about it. The video will continue to circulate. What remains unclear is what is left of the old political map when labels travel so fast from one side to the other.