Franco, 50 Years After: The Myth That Divides Spain

Franco, 50 Years After: The Myth That Doesn't Die

How is it possible that, half a century after his death, the figure of Francisco Franco continues to generate a volume of responses like the one provoked by the message that peine this issue? The anniversary—fifty years since his death—served as a catalyst for a discussion that, in just a few hours, went from explicit homage to economic analysis, from insult to historical comparison. And at the center, an uncomfortable question: why does a regime buried for forty years still mobilize passions that neither the Transition nor the subsequent democracy have managed to deactivate?

The initial message, a text of personal devotion to the dictator, acted as a spark in a powder keg that had been loaded for decades. What trinc was not a debate about history, but a fight about the present: about what Spain was built then and what Spain has been built since. And about who has the right to claim which of the two.

The economic argument: lower taxes, more public works

One of the most repeated lines in the discussion was the fiscal comparison. It was argued that during Francoism, with a much lower tax burden than today, the state was able to rebuild a country, invest in infrastructure, and build public housing. The contrast with the current situation—record revenue collection, it is claimed, and growing difficulties in emancipating oneself or starting a family—was the axis of several messages.

The question launched into the air was direct: how is it possible that with lower taxes more was done and with higher taxes less is done? The answer given by some was that before there were no 'reds stealing public money,' an assertion that, beyond its ideological charge, points to a broader thesis: that the problem is not how much is collected, but how it is managed. Others, however, pointed out that the comparison is misleading, because the country of the sixties had no welfare state, no universal healthcare, no decent pensions, no labor rights that are taken for granted today.

The data that loomed over the entire discussion was international isolation. It was recalled that Spain was outside the European concert for decades and that, nevertheless, reservoirs, highways, and housing were built. The conclusion drawn by some was that autarky did not prevent development; the one drawn by others was that development arrived precisely when the regime began to open up, with the technocrats of Opus Dei and the stabilization plans.

Was Franco the father of the Spanish nation?

Another current that emerged in the discussion was the one that maintains that Franco was, in practice, the true founder of contemporary Spain. The argument is that, although Spain was one of the first countries to adopt a modern constitution, the model never fully took root until the Francoist era, when a centralized state, a modern administration, and a unified internal market were consolidated.

Against this thesis, the most common rebuttal was that confusing the forced modernization of an authoritarian regime with the construction of a nation is a historical error. It was recalled that Francoism had no solid ideological base, but was rather a conglomerate of interests—military, monarchist, Falangist, Catholic—united by antiestéticar and victory in the war. And the case of Hedilla, the second head of the Falange, was cited to demonstrate that even within the movement itself there was no coherence: Franco sidelined and imprisoned him when he was no longer useful.

The discussion led to an exchange of accusations about who was a 'false Falangist' and who had been an anti-Francoist out of convenience. One participant summarized the paradox with a phrase that hung in the air: 'You must be like those false Falangers who realized they were anti-Francoist when Franco was already buried.'

The political legacy: from Francoism to current democracy

The third major block of the discussion was the one that connected Francoism with current Spain. The most repeated thesis was that the democracy born in 1978 is, in reality, a continuation of the previous regime under other forms. It was argued that the appointment of Juan Carlos I as successor—'a member of a dynasty that has always betrayed the host country,' according to the formulation used—was the mechanism that allowed the Francoist elite to recycle without answering for their actions.

The comparison made was provocative: can you imagine Hitler with a security guard formed by Namibians? A Reichstag formed by people without German blood? An economy that needed its people to emigrate to other countries to grow? The parallel, beyond its exaggeration, pointed to an idea: that post-Franco Spain has been unable to build its own narrative and has lived on borrowed time, both economically and politically.

Other participants, however, defended that the Transition was a success precisely because it avoided a reckoning and allowed a coexistence that is now taken for granted. The discussion, however, did not reach a meeting point: while some saw in current democracy a falsification, others considered it the only possible framework for a country that had emerged from a dictatorship.

The problem of memory: homage or provocation?

One of the most striking aspects of the discussion was the reaction provoked by the initial message. A text of personal devotion to Franco—'I pray for you every day without fail,' 'Spain and good Spaniards miss you a lot'—generated responses ranging from explicit adherence ('Long live Christ the King, Up with Spain') to the sharpest mockery.

The intervention that best captured the tone of part of the discussion was that of a participant who described 'good Spaniards' as 'a few cats' against a majority defined with a list of disqualifications: 'whores, fags, lazybones, drug addicts, feminists, public friends, vultures, black traffickers, and other miseries.' The phrase, beyond its aggressiveness, revealed a deep rift: that of those who feel heirs to a Spain that no longer exists and who blame others for its disappearance.

Other participants opted for irony. It was recalled that Franco's mummy was not taken to Moscow because 'they didn't have ice to preserve it during the transfer,' a joke that summarized the absurdity of a discussion that mixed homage with nostalgia and resentment.

What remains of Franco: myth, market, and memory

Beyond the opposing positions, what became clear is that Franco remains a cultural product. They spoke of 'Franco-joker,' the expression that summarizes how the dictator's figure is used to explain anything, from public deficit to the housing crisis. It was said that '200 years will pass and the left will still be blaming everything bad that happens to them,' a phrase that, in its exaggeration, points to a real phenomenon: the centrality of Franco in the Spanish political narrative.

They also spoke of 'Newspeak' and 'neuroprogramming,' terms some used to describe what they consider manipulation of language and memory. And 'the designers of genocide' were mentioned, an expression that, beyond its charge, reveals to what extent the discussion about Franco is still a discussion about power.

The closing of the discussion was not a close. It was a constatation: that, fifty years later, Franco remains the ghost that haunts Spain, and that each generation has to decide what to do with him. Some claim him; others combat him; the majority, simply, ignores him. But no one, not even those who were not born when he died, can say that it does not affect them.

In the end, the question that remains is the same that a participant who was born just days after the Constitution asked: how is it possible that with lower taxes more was built and with higher taxes less is built? The answer, probably, is not in Franco, but in us.