Tejero dies at 93, reigniting debate over Spain's 1981 coup

Tejero dies at 93, reigniting debate over the 23F coup

Lieutenant Colonel Antonio Tejero has died in Valencia at the age of 93, surrounded by his family, according to initial reports. The news spread faster than official confirmation: within hours, the man who stormed Congress with a gun on February 23, 1981, was declared dead, then critically ill, and finally seen having tea, until his son clarified he was "unwell but alive." This episode, starting with a brief announcement of his death, turned into a collective reckoning over what exactly that assault meant and who benefited from it.

Who was Antonio Tejero and why does his death revive the 23F debate?

Tejero entered history through an act lasting less than a day, which cost him his military career and several years in prison. The current discussion doesn't dispute the fact—the storming of Congress—but its meaning. For some, he was a "good Spaniard" from another era, akin to the 19th-century generals trying to reverse decline with metaphysical and political errors. For others, he was just another cog in a farce that got out of hand.

The motto attributed to him is honor. The problem is that in politics, honor is measured by results, not intentions. And here, the balance sheet is uncomfortable for everyone.

The deception thesis: A coup to stop a different government

The version dominating the most valued part of the discussion argues that Tejero did not act alone or improvise. According to this reading, King Juan Carlos would have been the mastermind behind an operation—with General Armada as his right-hand man—to establish a concentration government including socialist and communist ministers. Upon seeing the new cabinet list, Tejero allegedly reacted: "Don't count me in."

Proponents of this hypothesis cite a meeting between Socialist MP Enrique Múgica Herzog and Armada in Lérida on October 22, 1981, and a prior encounter in November 1980 between Múgica, Felipe González, and Sabino Fernández Campo at El Parrillón restaurant. From there, the repeated conclusion is that the 23F was a grotesque planned by scoundrels, and those who took the fall—Tejero and Milans del Bosch—were the only ones left holding the bag while others stayed silent.

Caution is needed here: these are claims circulating in the debate, not judicially proven facts. However, one cannot ignore the paradox acknowledged by all: the greatest political beneficiary of the coup's failure was the one who later presented himself as its savior.

The narrative of democracy's savior and its holes

The official account turned Juan Carlos I into the architect of democracy thanks to his televised address in the early morning hours. In the discussion, it is emphasized that this narrative served to legitimize the monarchy and deactivate the army as a political actor. The patriotic army, it is argued, was purged afterwards; the left, which according to this reading was also aware, remained portrayed as the force that fought against the coup.

The detail most frequently mentioned is that of Isidoro, a name referring to then-Prime Minister Adolfo Suárez, described as the main victim: the coup knocked him out and paved the way for his exit. "The left is always behind all of Spain's miseries," concludes one of the most repeated currents, while another responds that it was the Bourbon and Armada who made fools of the common people.

The death hoax and the priest son

Confusion over whether Tejero had actually died generated its own subgenre. One comment summarizes the absurdity: "This morning: He's dead. This noon: He's critical. This afternoon: He's having tea." The denial came via family: his son, who according to messages dresses up as a priest, clarified that he was unwell but alive.

That wasn't the end of it. One intervention asserts, without providing any proof, that this son is a Satanist and has participated in two satanic sacrifices, those of Rocío Wanninkhof and Julen in Totalán. It is an unsupported accusation best left where it belongs: in the realm of speculation. "You shall know them by their fruits," adds whoever launches such claims.

What remains of the character: Honor, theater, and bad weeds

The final assessment is a clash of irreconcilable frameworks. Some bid farewell to the "good Spaniard," the "last patriot," perhaps a rustic but true patriot, unlike those who used and betrayed him. Others celebrate that bad weeds never die and wish the same for the rest. And a third, more cynical path summarizes that he was just another cog in the farce, perhaps one of the few unaware of the setup, taking the blame alongside Milans del Bosch.

The film about the 23F, which many expected to be dull, ended up dignifying his figure to general surprise. It antiestéticatures some masterful speech minutes, it is acknowledged. That is the exact point where analysis stalls: one cannot separate the man who staged a coup from the man who, according to the dominant hypothesis, was deceived into doing so. And the issue remains unresolved with that contradiction.