King Felipe VI Appoints Investiture Candidate, Disappointing Royalist Base

King Felipe VI appoints candidate, royalist base distances itself

The King has tasked a candidate with 120 deputies with forming a government, requiring support from those who do not recognize him as head of state. There has been no institutional crisis, but rather something more uncomfortable: a segment of his own base has shifted from defending the Crown to considering it obsolete in just four lines.

The sequence repeated as an accusation has four milestones: the exhumation of Franco from the Valley of the Fallen, pardons for those convicted in the procés, amnesty, and — this is a forecast, not a fact — the referendum. The dominant reading is that the monarch signs whatever it takes to remain as a symbolic figure. The opposing view holds that this is, exactly, his job.

What a king who only signs can and cannot do

In a constitutional monarchy, the head of state does not legislate, govern, or judge. His signature comes at the end of the circuit, when the text has already left Parliament, and all his activities are subject to the Government. The repeated example: the President of the Italian Republic, even if from the left, signs laws from a right-wing executive because there is no alternative.

The defense of this framework is forceful. It is recalled that the King does not command the Army — that is Defense — that he cannot stop a military deployment, and that the only real check is the Constitutional Court. And a warning is added: confusing protocol with power leads to believing there is a button that no one has ever pressed. The most widespread description portrays him as a decorative figure: valuable and voiceless.

The counterpoint has a historical precedent cited with irony. The President of the Weimar Republic, who did not want Hitler anywhere near him, ended up signing his appointment as chancellor. If the head of state cannot stop anything, the question shifts: then, why does he sign?

The thesis of dignity: refusing to lend the image

Here lies the core of the disappointment. Some argue that having no powers does not miccionan having no judgment: an honorary office, without decision-making power, retains at least the possibility of saying “do not count on me.” The analogy used is that of an honorary president of a club who sees the board turn the local into something else and prefers to leave rather than lend his name prestige.

This reasoning does not require the King to abusa the Constitution. It requires him to risk something. And there the argument becomes corrosive: he is reproached for never having put anything at stake. Neither the signature, nor the speech, nor the silence.

The warning from the right: monarchy or unitary republic

Statements attributed to Santiago Abascal add pressure from the opposite flank. They suggest that if the monarchy ceases to be an institution serving Spain and yields to the siren songs of a confederal state, many Spaniards would prefer a unitary national republic. It is a warning with a double recipient: the Palace and the Government.

Notably, this ultimatum does not ask the King to decide. It asks that he not be dragged along. That is: exactly what those defending his role say he cannot do.

The cost of Zarzuela and the institution’s bill

The wear and tear is measured not only in signatures. It is measured in structure. A royal house carries a cabinet, protocol, personal secretariat, travel, and official meals, and the reproach is that this apparatus is sustained while its public utility is openly debated. The question of utility has become a question of budget, and that is a significant shift in terrain.

Among the responses appears even the inverse scenario: a monarch who would not mind being relieved. With no real functions, an agenda of inaugurations and speeches, and the possibility of managing his legacy away from scrutiny and living like a king without answering to anyone.

The arithmetic used to close the matter

When the institutional argument runs out, the count comes in. A participant cites the figure of 12 million votes for the block supporting the Government against 11 million for the opposition, and the conclusion is always the same: sovereignty belongs to Parliament, and the King is not there to correct it. It is also recalled that, if the investiture of the most voted party fails, the second has the right to attempt a majority.

The problem with this closure is that it does not answer the accusation. No one disputes the arithmetic. What is debated is the price of lending his signature to a text considered a concession.

If the King signs whatever is put in front of him and cannot do otherwise, who benefits from a head of state that never says no?