The debate over calling Spain's PM Sánchez a dictator and the daily insults

Calling him a dictator and the daily insult: the debate's double standard

Calling Pedro Sánchez a dictator and calling him a "son of a bitch" in the same conversation is not a contradiction. That is the crux of the matter. The argument underpinning the scorn is that a real dictator would not tolerate the insult: in an authoritarian regime, anyone who insults the head of state ends up with their head down, informing on their neighbour, or directly in a ditch covered in quicklime. Hence the conclusion that keeps coming up: those who insult him daily are not brave, they are cowards, because they only dare when there are no consequences.

What Sánchez is blamed for, and the response

The central charge is not that he is a dictator, but that he cannot be one even if he tries. That is the formula that best sums up the dominant position: there is no dictatorship because the means do not exist, but there is an authoritarian impulse that falls short. In parallel, the accusation circulates that the prime minister's family is an easy target, with the response that attacking his relatives is the sign that they cannot get to him.

The other half of the debate argues the opposite: that the constant insults are precisely the proof that there is no dictatorship. The comparison thrown out is with the great authoritarian regimes of the twentieth century, which, it is argued, nobody insulted with impunity. Viewed through that lens, the daily shouting would be a symptom of freedom, not repression.

The episode that throws everyone off

The point that breaks the script is Sánchez's own reply to a social media post, a "it was exactly like that" accompanied by a dog emoji. The immediate reading is that the prime minister is laughing at the insult in front of everyone. Two things get mixed up there: mockery as a communication strategy, and the realisation that the insult does not move him.

Some interpret it as a display of superiority, of being above good and evil. Others see exactly the opposite: a gesture confirming that the noise does not touch him. Either way, the episode dismantles the dictator frame: a dictator does not play the clown with those who insult him.

The accusation slipped in through the middle

Between the two camps a third line appears, a more uncomfortable one: those who claim there are public lists of friendly journalists and unfriendly ones. It is a suspicion thrown into the air, with no evidence offered, and it should be treated for what it is, an unsupported accusation. But it explains why the debate never closes: every gesture by the prime minister is read as confirmation of a prior thesis.

The result is an exchange that does not discuss facts, but frames. Some see a tyrant without power; others, a prime minister who endures the insult because he can. Both sides use the same fact, the impunity of the insult, to defend opposing theses.

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The prediction, with reservations: as long as the insult remains free and the prime minister keeps responding with humour, the dictator frame will weaken on its own. If one day it stops being free, then the label really will need revisiting.