15. The 23 February Coup
Nearly four decades have passed since the dramatic events of 23 February 1981, yet they remain imprinted in my memory as if they had only happened yesterday. In the afternoon of 23 February, the 350 deputies were in the middle of a debate on the investiture of the new President, the UCD candidate, Leopoldo Calvo-Sotelo. Nobody had any idea of what was about to happen.
Together with a group of militants of the Spanish Young Socialists, we had founded the Marxist Tendency that was organised around the newspaper Nuevo Claridad. I was the political editor and wrote most of the main articles and editorials.
At half past six on that day we were discussing the new issue of the paper in a meeting of the editorial board that was held in an old converted warehouse in the working-class suburb of Ciudad Lineal in the east of Madrid. I had written a long centre page article entitled ‘The Collapse of the Centre’ that dealt with the political crisis.
While we were discussing the political situation and the contents of the article, the comrades responsible for the printing and layout of the paper were busy with their tasks in another room just across the corridor. As usual, they had the radio on to listen to music. Shortly after half past six our deliberations were suddenly cut short when the door of our office swung open and in walked the comrades from the layout room: “Shots have been fired in the parliament,” they said. We immediately arose and walked into the other room, where we gathered around the radio, which was now completely silent.
At precisely 6.22 pm a man dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant-colonel of the Civil Guard approached the Speaker’s rostrum, waving a pistol. Colonel Tejero grabbed the microphone and pointed a pistol at Parliament President, Landelino Lavilla, shouting: “Todos al suelo!” (“Everyone down on the floor!”) Seconds later a fusillade of shots shattered the silence. Three shots hit the chamber ceiling and many others lodged in walls and desks. Amid the dust falling from the broken ceiling, terrified deputies dived for cover. Calvo-Sotelo cowered under his seat. The sole exceptions were Suárez and Carrillo, who remained in their seats. The radio broadcast of the session was suddenly interrupted by gunfire.
We had no means of knowing what was happening in the parliament, but we immediately concluded that there were only two possibilities: either a terrorist attack on the parliament or a coup. We decided to wait for five minutes and if the radio remained silent, the second option was the most likely one. When the national radio interrupted normal service and began playing military music, that made up our minds. We had to take immediate measures. If the coup staged by the hard-liners had succeeded, it would inevitably have been followed by an intensification of repression against the left. After years of underground work our comrades were experienced enough to know what had to be done. All sensitive material, especially names and addresses, was immediately gathered up and removed to safe locations. The comrades then dispersed to different parts of the city to reduce the risk of arrest. However, the small leading group made arrangements to meet at a safe house some hours later when the situation was clearer.
Shortly after the Civil Guards occupied parliament, they were joined by a group of armed civilians who had appeared outside the building and started singing the Spanish Fascist song, Cara al Sol. Inside the parliament, General Manuel Gutiérrez Mellado, who was a liberal officer and vice-president of the UCD parliamentary group, tried to confront Tejero, who resisted violently, but only Suárez came out to defend him. At 7.10 pm he rose from his seat demanding to speak with the leader of the coup. In a menacing but theatrical act, without saying a word, Tejero brandished his pistol in Suárez’s face. This silent dialogue with Adolfo Suárez was a kind of cruel game of a torturer with his helpless victim, as if to say: “Just you wait, my fine friend. We will sort you out later.”
Where all power lies in the barrel of a gun, words are superfluous. Tejero was showing Adolfo Suárez that his life was in the hands of a man with no respect for anything but naked force. His pistol was more eloquent than any speech. To demonstrate who was in control, Tejero took a decision, not previously planned, to separate Suárez from the rest of the Chamber. Suárez was taken to a side room, where he remained alone, without any communication with the outside world, for seventeen hours. After the coup had collapsed, Tejero expressed his regret at not having smashed his gun in Gutiérrez Mellado’s face. That little detail is quite sufficient to show what kind of a man we are dealing with.
Who was Tejero?
Most people, when they think of the 23F, think of the name Tejero. The image immediately springs to mind of a man with a thick black moustache wearing a three-cornered hat, waving a pistol at the Speaker’s rostrum of the Cortes, shouting: “Todos al suelo!” Those words and that image has forever created the notion that this was ‘Tejero’s coup’. But this is very far from the truth. The fact is that it suited many people to identify the events of 23F with Tejero, because in this way, attention could be drawn away from the real protagonists, in particular, His Majesty, King Juan Carlos. This deception has been maintained for the last forty years. It is about time it was laid to rest for good.
Antonio Tejero Molina was certainly not the leader of that coup, he was not even one of the leaders. A lieutenant colonel of the Civil Guard, Tejero was a hot-headed freebooter, an adventurer, a fanatical reactionary and a man of very limited intelligence. One might well apply to him Trotsky’s description of General Kornilov: a man with the heart of a lion and the brain of a sheep. Tejero was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel in 1974, while serving as the leader of the Comandancia (Civil Guard headquarters) in the Basque province of Guipúzcoa. But he had to ask to be transferred to another region when his public declarations against the Basque flag gained him an unwelcome (and dangerous) notoriety. In recognition for his exploits in the Basque Country, where he distinguished himself for his zeal in combating ETA, he was made Chief of the Planning Staff of the Civil Guard in Madrid. But he also soon acquired a reputation for insubordination and rebelliousness.
He had played a secondary role in Operation Galaxia, presumably because his superiors felt they could not trust him to behave rationally. They were not mistaken. The same was doubtless true in the case of the preparation and execution of 23F. Once again, he was not one of the leaders. Tejero’s role was that of the hit man, the pistolero whose task was to storm the parliament and put the fear of god into its occupants. For this task he was perfectly suited. But the wider political ramifications were quite beyond his understanding. In the event, he performed his functions well – rather too well in fact. The aim of the organisers of the coup was to establish a Bonapartist government, similar to the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera in 1923, in which the presence of civilian ministers (including some from the ‘left’) was merely a fig-leaf to conceal the reality of military rule. That appears to have been the consensus among the conspirators. But there were many fatal flaws in this plan, the first of which was Tejero, the wild man himself.
General Milans del Bosch
Another key actor in the drama of 23F was General Jaime Milans del Bosch y Ussía. A fascist to the marrow of his bones. After the end of the Spanish Civil War, Milans del Bosch volunteered to fight alongside the Germans on the Eastern Front in the División Azúl (Blue Division). Later, as a loyal servant of the Franco dictatorship, he was sent as military attaché to several Latin American countries where the fascist influence was strong – including Argentina, Uruguay, Chile and Paraguay. In the final years of Franco’s rule, he became commander-in-chief of the crack Brunete armoured division, and in 1977 was named lieutenant-general for the III military region, based in the eastern city of Valencia. From there, in interview after interview, he poured scorn on the transition to democracy, blaming politicians for everything from unemployment to pornography.
Shortly before he was due for retirement, it seemed his chance had come when Colonel Antonio Tejero seized the parliament building and called on King Juan Carlos to dissolve parliament. Milans del Bosch immediately ordered all his tanks, armoured cars and troops out on to the streets, ready to back any revolt. Significantly, the first act of Milans del Bosch was to prohibit workers’ parties and trade unions. In his statement read out over Valencia radios, the general banned all strikes and lockouts and warned that abandoning work would be treated as sedition.
After the seizure of parliament, Milans del Bosch declared a state of emergency and took over the military district, alleging there was a “vacuum of power” in Madrid. Army combat cars, mobile anti-aircraft, water cannons, and troop carriers moved into the city centre; radio stations in the Valencia region were occupied by the general’s troops. In a radio broadcast on a Castellón station in his district, he said he was awaiting further instruction from King Juan Carlos, commander-in-chief of the armed forces and head of state:
In view of the happenings taking place in these moments in the capital and the consequent vacuum of power, it is my duty to guarantee order in the military region of my command until I receive corresponding instructions from His Majesty the King.
However, General Milans del Bosch was the only one of nine regional military commanders to declare an emergency. No unusual activity was reported in any of Spain’s eight other military districts. The joint chiefs of staff denied (falsely) that General Milans del Bosch had declared a state of emergency in his district. An EFE report released later said that Colonel Tejero telephoned General Milans del Bosch immediately after the takeover of parliament and said: “My general, no news. All is in order; all is in order.” The EFE report said that the Colonel then shouted “Long live Spain,” and hung up the phone.
Later that night, after Juan Carlos appeared on television calling on the armed forces to back his authority, he telephoned Milans del Bosch personally in the early hours of 24 February to persuade him to give up. Grudgingly, Milans stood down his troops. At 5.00 am that morning, Milans, realising that he was isolated, cancelled his plans and was arrested.
Unable to avoid responsibility for his part in the uprising, he was dismissed from his command later the same day. In March 1982, he was tried along with twenty-four other military officers and given a jail sentence of twenty-six years for rebellion, and cashiered from the army.
Milans del Bosch was freed in 1991 after serving less than ten years of his sentence, and afterwards lived quietly in Madrid with his family. He died in July 1997. Never at any point did he express any regret for his actions.
Alfonso Armada and the King
If we are looking for the real brains behind the coup, we must look first in the direction of General Alfonso Armada. He had been Juan Carlos’ private secretary for seventeen years, and was perhaps closer to the king than anybody else. After a period of estrangement, the king appointed Armada to be the armed forces’ deputy chief of the defence staff, just eleven days before the coup attempt was launched.
I do not forget what Antonio Carro, minister of the presidency with Franco and Arias Navarro, told me at a reception where the king was present. He criticised politicians so much that General Armada, a man of his closest confidence, believed himself to be under an obligation to put an end to that plague at a stroke. This was the famous “change of direction” (golpe de timón).1
Given the close relationship of General Armada with Juan Carlos, it comes as no surprise that when the occupation of the Congress took place on 23F, the first thing that he intended to do was to go to Zarzuela Palace. This was quite logical. They had talked about this a lot, so it was a natural thing to do. But things turned out quite differently. The plans of the plotters came to grief in part as a result of the grotesque antics of Tejero with his theatrical irruption into Parliament, his unseemly shouting and bawling and the kidnapping of elected deputies in the process of voting for Leopoldo Calvo-Sotelo as president.
Armada had intended to go to the Cortes and address the detained parliamentarians. The refusal of Lieutenant Colonel Tejero to carry out Armada’s plan ruined the whole proceedings. The first problem was that Milans del Bosch’s coup de main had failed. The second was that Milans was not willing for Armada to save his skin at his expense. Tejero would not let him enter the Chamber because Milans had not given the order to allow him to do so. That is what the king meant when he said: “This was not in the plan.”
During the trial, Tejero explained how he had been waiting for the “white elephant”, a high-ranking figure who was supposed to come and take over command of the whole operation. But this mystery man was never named. Evidently it was a person of very high rank whose identity had to be hidden at all costs. There has been much speculation as to who this person was. Was it perhaps General Armada? After all, he was supposed to go to Congress, take over command and read a pre-arranged list of names who were to be part of a new government headed by himself. Armada then reported back to the king who had no option but to call off the whole operation which he himself had set in motion.
But there is another, far more plausible, option. The journalist Pilar Urbano has argued that the White Elephant could only be the king himself. It was Juan Carlos himself who was the real chief organiser of the coup. All the available evidence points in this direction, and as time passes, new facts that implicate him directly are emerging. The sequence of events went something like this: Suárez breaks with the king, they clash repeatedly (this is documented), then an ‘Operación de Gaulle’ is set in motion. This implies creating an extreme military crisis, or the threat of such a crisis, which calls for the intervention of a strong man in order to ‘save democracy’. The king was in charge, together with Armada and Milans del Bosch, but he had the support of all parties (with the exception of Suárez himself, who will be removed from power).
Tejero was just a useful idiot – the ‘fall guy’ as they used to say in Hollywood gangster movies. He was transported to Congress by the CESID. Once there, he waited for the appearance of the White Elephant. He had been informed that His Majesty the King was fully on board, and therefore felt empowered to act in his name. By his irresponsible actions he had effectively revealed the identity of the White Elephant, who was naturally highly displeased. That was most definitely not in the plan, as Juan Carlos blurted out in front of Sabino, when he found out.
But worse was to come. When Armada arrived and showed Tejero the list of the government, which included prominent leaders not only of the PSOE but also of the PCE, he flew into a rage and refused to allow him into the Congress. Being a real true believer in fascism, he could not accept a government that included such undesirables and subversives. But by preventing Armada from entering parliament, he effectively aborted the coup. To quote the immortal words of Juan Carlos, “it was not in the plan”. The coup had collapsed, and the king was left with no alternative but to call the whole thing off. However, in the end, the aim of the coup was achieved in any case, with the removal of Suárez.2
This circus effectively torpedoed the plans of the ‘white elephant’. Two-and-a-half hours after the seizure, King Juan Carlos told Catalan President Jordi Pujol by telephone that everything was under control. The Defence Ministry alerted all troops to stay in barracks; everything was under control and that police had surrounded the parliament building. Army, navy and air force spokesmen reported all quiet. Police Jeeps blocked the main access roads to the parliament, which was in darkness apart from a single slit of light from one upstairs window. Top security chiefs were seen in a hotel, but police swarming outside appeared to be waiting for orders.
Why the Delay?
In the early hours of the morning, by which time he had finally convinced himself that the coup had failed, the king read out the famous message that was supposed to have ‘saved Spanish democracy’. At 1.14 am the king, wearing the uniform of a captain general, the highest Spanish military rank, went on television to position himself against the coup and to appeal for calm. Ashen-faced and with a grim and monotone voice, he uttered the following words:
In the extraordinary circumstances that we are currently experiencing, I ask of everyone the utmost peace and confidence and I inform you all that I have given the Captains General of the army, the navy, and the air force the following order: Given the situation created by the events that took place in the Palace of Congress, and to avoid any possible confusion, I confirm that I have ordered Civil Authorities and the Joint Chiefs of Staff to take all necessary measures to maintain constitutional order, within the law.
Should any measure of a military nature need to be taken, it must be approved by the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
The Crown, the symbol of the permanence and unity of the nation, cannot tolerate, in any form, the actions or behaviour of anyone attempting by force to interrupt the democratic process of the constitution, which the Spanish people approved at the time of the referendum.
This terse and strangely-worded declaration provides the sole basis for the legend of Juan Carlos as ‘the saviour of Spanish democracy’. In fact, by the time it was made, the coup was already a failure. The timing of events is highly instructive. Tejero entered Congress at 6.22 pm. But Juan Carlos did not come out publicly on television to oppose the coup until 1.14 am. Why take so long to react to the “extraordinary circumstances that we are currently experiencing”? Some have tried to justify this strange delay by claiming that the television stations were occupied by the military until late that evening. But this conveniently overlooks the fact that the Zarzuela Palace has an autonomous infrastructure capable of making its own television broadcasts.
In any case, the king was in possession of many means of making his views known. His telephone, at least, was still working. One has to ask why it took so many hours for the king to react at all? As we shall see, according to his personal secretary, he was observed together with the queen raising a glass of champagne to the success of the coup. His secretary, astonished and shocked, warned him that his conduct could put the fate of the monarchy in danger and begged him to take action to halt the coup. Yet even after that it took him nearly seven hours to make an appearance on television.
What was the king doing during all this time? We do not know. What we do know was that he took no decisive action against the coup until he was sure that it would fail. In other words, he was waiting to see what happened before jumping onto the winning side. That is perfectly in accord with everything we know about his character: cowardly, devious and treacherous to the nth degree. In other words, a worthy descendant of the Bourbons.
Juan Carlos had developed calculated ambiguity to the level of an art form. His speech that night was a classic of this literary style. Compared to this, the utterances of the Delphic Oracle were marvels of coherence. His expressionless face and superficial air of affability was a façade behind which he concealed a selfish, deceitful and covetous nature. Devoid of any moral or political principles, vindictive to foes and disloyal to friends, his actions were always guided by a narrow spirit of self-preservation, personal advancement and gain.
Juan Carlos had always entertained the closest personal friendship with General Armada. But he did not hesitate to throw his bosom crony to the dogs the moment he realised that his dangerous friendship would fatally implicate him in the coup. That he was indeed involved in it up to the hilt there can be no doubt whatsoever. Unfortunately, to quote his own words, things had not gone “according to plan.” So, Armada had to be dispensed with. Nevertheless, he waited a few hours, just in case…
Tejero resisted until midday on 24 February. Then, realising that he was completely isolated, he surrendered and was arrested outside the Congress building. The deputies were freed that morning. The coup had collapsed.
Sabino Remembers
A most important contribution to this gradual process of the unveiling of the truth was made by an unexpected source. In recent years, there have been many other books published – by Javier Cercás, Jesús Palacios and others – all of which have contributed to shedding light on the role of the king in those dark events. But it was above all the memories of Sabino Fernández Campo that provided us with the most invaluable eye witness information, which reveals a lot about those obscure six or seven hours between the eruption of Tejero in the parliament and the king’s television speech at 1.14 am.
A man of the right, a defender of the monarchy and a close personal friend of Juan Carlos: I refer to Sabino Fernández Campo, Count of Latores. He was appointed Secretary General of the Household of the King of Spain on 31 October 1977 and head from 22 January 1990 until 8 January 1993, when he was dismissed. When the coup d’état of 23 February 1981 took place, he was close to the king. It was he who uttered the famous phrase “he is not here, nor is he expected,” which served as an answer to a question from General José Juste Fernández (general of the Brunete Armoured Division) about whether Alfonso Armada had reached the Zarzuela Palace. Well known for his absolute loyalty to Juan Carlos, he used to be called ‘la sombra del Rey’ – the king’s shadow. Fernández Campo said he would never write his memoirs. When he was asked about the coup of 23F, he always gave evasive answers:
“I do not know exactly what happened on 23F. I know what I experienced, what I was able to deduce, what the judges clarified, but I do not have absolute certainty of how the facts unfolded, of the cause and the circumstances that moved those facts, I have nothing to contribute to historians.”3
He repeated on more than one occasion: “The honour of having served so closely and so directly to the king and his family has a counterpart: loyalty and discretion. In my case, silence is the best loyalty.”
But this sense of loyalty was not shared by the king, who sacked him on 8 January 1993. He died in October 2009, having maintained his silence about the coup and the role of Juan Carlos in it for many years. But before he died, perhaps out of a bad conscience, perhaps because he no longer felt he had anything to lose, he gave an astonishing interview that throws a glaring light on the events of that fateful night.
The details in these few lines are so precise, so concrete and so vivid that they could scarcely have been invented by the most skilful novelist. They undoubtedly have the ring of truth about them. And their authenticity is testified by the fact that their author was not a rebel, not a man of the left or a republican, but a man who fought on the side of Franco in the Civil War, was a loyal supporter of the old regime and one who lived and died an ardent monarchist. We reproduce them here in full.
Sabino’s Testimony
That afternoon, the afternoon of 23 February 1981, I was in my office checking papers, like almost every afternoon, when suddenly Fernando Gutiérrez stormed in without even knocking on the door, and almost shouting, told me: “Sabino, quick, switch on the radio!”
Immediately I turned on the radio and we both listened with amazement to what all Spaniards were hearing: Tejero yelling, and the shots… and I felt something like a whiplash shake my whole body. I must have turned white in seconds and without thinking I jumped and went straight to the king’s office. When I entered, I also did not knock on the door, I saw that the king and the queen were already glued to the radio and listening carefully. But I noticed they were completely calm.
“Sire, what is happening in the Congress?”
“Sabino, please, don’t upset yourself. You’ve gone pale!”
“But Sire, there has been shooting!”
“I know, I heard it too.”
“Majesty, this is very serious. People may have been killed!”
“Calm down, man, calm down. Do not lose your head in difficult situations. Get in touch with Security right away and find out what is happening.”
“Sire, just in case, I am going to give instructions to reinforce the security of the Palace.”
“Yes, that seems OK to me. Do it!”
The queen had not said anything, although her face was quite a picture. But just as I was going out, the telephone rang and the king, while picking up the receiver, asked me to wait.
Then His Majesty said, almost shouting down the phone:
“Alfonso! What’s up? What were those shots?”
…?
Naturally, I could not hear what was said on the other side of the phone, and could only make it out from the king’s answers.
“What the f**k do you mean by intimidation! That was not in the plan! I want to know what is happening there right now.”
…?
“Yes, find out everything and you come to the Zarzuela right away.”
…?
At that moment I signed to the king to delay answering. Then His Majesty said:
“Alfonso, give me a few minutes and call me later (and he hung up the phone).”
“What’s wrong, Sabino?”
“Sire, I do not know what’s happening, but I think General Armada must stay in his post.”
“Why?”
“Sire, the chief cannot leave his post in the middle of a battle. It would be nonsensical.”
“But I need to know what has happened. The shots were not planned.”
“Sire, I do not understand.”
“Yes, sorry Sabino, (and the king had regained his habitual self-control). I will explain it to you later. Well, maybe you’re right. I’ll tell him now to remain at his post.”
“Sabino is right,” said the queen.
And then, when not even three minutes had passed, the telephone rang and again it was General Armada.
“Look, Alfonso, we’ve decided you must stay where you are and do not move until new orders are issued.”
…?
“Yes, I know, Alfonso, I know the situation is difficult and complicated. But I insist that you stay there, we will talk again later.”
“Sire, I’m going to my office, I said then, in a state of complete amazement. I’m going to gather information and give instructions to Security.”
“OK, that’s fine.”
And I went back to my office, where an anguished Fernando Gutiérrez was waiting.
“Fernando, as a matter of urgency you must call the television, the radio stations and the newspapers to find out what is happening and what news they have. Come on! Move!”
When I was alone, all I knew was that my head was exploding like a volcano and a hundred questions came into my brain like a shower of sparks. What was the meaning of the words “not planned”? Why did the king seem to be calm with me and not with Armada? What was going on? Was it the individual action of that madman Tejero? Was it a coup? Was it the bridgehead for something else much more serious? …
The doubts came flooding into my head! My God, the situation barely allowed me to think! So, I picked up the phone and called the special phone number I had arranged to talk directly to the Congress. I asked whoever picked up the phone to put me through to the person we had designated that afternoon for direct information, but he was not there. But the person who answered informed me, very nervously, of what had happened and what was still going on, and there was one thing that hit me so hard I almost fell over: that Tejero had said that he was doing this IN THE NAME OF THE KING!!
On hearing this news, my vision became blurred and my heart began to pound alarmingly. In the name of the king? What’s going on here? Then I also called my friend Lacaci, the Captain General of Madrid, and found that he was as disoriented and confused as I was. The man was trying to find out exactly what was happening in the Brunete [the armoured division in Madrid]. We agreed to talk to each other afterwards and stay in permanent contact, because it was essential to know what the Armoured Company was going to do.
So, again I went to see the king. I entered the office and His Majesty was talking on the phone and he said to his interlocutor, who was none other than General Armada:
“Alfonso, if it is true that this madman has entered the Congress in the name of the king, it must be denied immediately and I want to know immediately (the king almost shouted) why Tejero said such a thing.” And without more ado, he hung up the phone.
I approached and, without sitting down, (the queen remained seated), I said:
“Sire, I see you already know. This is very serious.”
“Yes, Sabino, the thing is serious. I think we should authorise Armada to come to the Zarzuela and explain in detail what is happening, because I believe that things that were not planned are happening here.”
“Things that were not planned? What does His Majesty mean?”
“Well, it’s just a way of speaking…” (for the first time I noticed some nervousness in the king, as if he wanted to hide something from me)
“Your Majesty, I still think that General Armada must remain at his post. Sire, I think it is urgent that Your Majesty speak directly with the Captains General to know what they think and what is happening in their respective regions. I also think that it is urgent that His Majesty publicly deny what Tejero is saying in Congress. I think you should address the people of Spain on television.”
“Very well, fix it up with television and as soon as you finish you come here and talk to the Captains General.”
So, I went back to my office, where Fernando Gutiérrez, now almost beside himself, lost no time to inform me:
“Sabino, the military has taken Spanish Television and National Radio.”
“What’s that? What did you say?”
“It was just confirmed by the CEO himself.”
At that moment the telephone rang. It was General Juste who asked to speak to me. I quickly started talking.
“Juste, what’s going on?”
“Sabino (General Juste and I were very friendly since my stint in the Ministry of the Armed Forces). Is General Armada in the Zarzuela palace?”
“No. Why are you asking me?”
“Because I’ve been told that at this time the General Armada was supposed to be in the Zarzuela.”
“But why? Who informed you of it?”
“Commander Pardo Zancada, who apparently learned of it from the lips of General Milans.”
“Well, Juste, Armada is not in the Zarzuela, nor is he expected.”
“Thanks, Sabino, that changes things. Thanks again. I will call you later.”
“Hey, hey, why does it change things? What things?”
“Sabino, please, I’ll call you later.”
I hung up the phone and my brain was on fire. For the first time I had an uneasy feeling about General Armada, perhaps because of his insistence on going to the Zarzuela. My instincts had already put me on my guard. And then there was the fact that the news about Armada had come through Milans del Bosch…
And so, with so many suspicions buzzing in my brain, I went back to His Majesty’s office and, when I entered, I had the surprise of the night. Or rather I should say, the surprise of my life. Because there they were, raising a glass to make a toast. That clouded my mind and it infuriated me. And so, without any ceremony, I addressed His Majesty and without thinking, I said looking straight at him:
“Sire! … Are you crazy? We are on the edge of the precipice and you are toasting with champagne” – and I almost shouted – “Sire, do you not realise that the Monarchy is in danger? Don’t you realise that it may be the end of your Kingship? Remember what happened to your grandfather!!!”
At that moment the king’s face changed colour and I saw his hands begin to tremble and in an almost inaudible voice he told all those present to leave the office immediately. Everyone, except the queen, who kept a poker face.
Once alone His Majesty came towards me, and trembling and almost crying, he took me by the hands and in a pleading tone said:
“Sabino, please save me! Save me, save the Monarchy, right now I do not know what to do or what to say!”
“Majesty, let’s reassure everyone. This is not the moment for regrets. You told me before that you should not lose your head in difficult times. What you have to do is try to get control of the situation and for this it is essential to talk with the Captains General. I warn you that the Brunete division has already taken over Spanish Television and National Radio.”
“I knew it, I knew it! I knew it!”
“What did you know, Majesty?”
“What was going to happen.”
At that moment the queen got up and without saying anything left the office. I collapsed. My legs were shaking.
Then the king sat down at his desk and buried his head in his hands. I sat opposite and waited a few seconds before speaking.
“Sire, I do not know what Your Majesty knew, but whatever it is, what you have to do now is to stop this madness. If ‘that’ succeeds, the Monarchy will fall like that of your grandfather.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right. Please, speak with the Captains General and do what you can.”
“No, Majesty, the Supreme Chief of the Armed Forces has to speak with the Captains General, and that honour belongs to His Majesty.”
“Yes, you’re right… but, do not leave here.” And there I remained while the king spoke in this order, with Jaime Milans del Bosch (III Military Region), Guillermo Quintana Lacaci (I Region), Pedro Merry Gordon (II Region), Antonio Pascual Galmes (IV Region), Antonio Elícegui Prieto (V Region), Luis Polanco Mejorada (VI Region), Ángel Capano López (VII Region), Manuel Fernández Posse (VIII Region), Antonio Delgado Álvarez (IX Region), Manuel de la Torre Pascual (Baleares), Jesús González de Yerro (Canarias) and Ignacio Alfaro Arregui, at that time President of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JUJEM) and Luís Arévalo Pelluz, Admiral Chief of the Navy Staff.
Of what the king spoke with the high command of the army I will speak in the next instalment.
“This is a bombshell, Sabino!”
“I know.”
“This changes everything.”
“I know.”
“This changes History.”
“I know… but it’s the truth.”
“Do you know what can happen if this is published?”
“It will not be published, at least as long as I live.”
“Will this be in your Memoirs?”
“No, you know that I’m not a fan of Memoirs. Memoirs are a very serious and very detailed thing. I prefer to call what I write ‘Things remembered’. That forces you to write only what you remember.”
“But I understand that this is just the beginning of what happened that evening.”
“That’s right, next Saturday I’ll show you what I am writing just now, if I feel like it, because I have my doubts … Sometimes I think that the History that has been written about ‘all that’ is already immovable. Besides, I see myself as a Prometheus in chains.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yes, I see myself chained to my own words and everything I’ve been saying since 1981. I helped create the version that has gone down in history and now I’m sure that everyone would throw it back in my face. Because you may well think that if I were lying then, I may also be lying now. Many would accuse me of speaking with resentment now, for the ‘kick in the ass’ that His Majesty gave me last year.”
“No, Sabino, your prestige as a serious man is beyond doubt and I’m sure they will believe you. Many events in history have experienced ups and downs and important changes over time. What I do worry about is the attitude that the Monarch can take if your version now becomes public.”
“Well, you can just imagine.”
“It could even mean the fall of the Monarchy.”
“I do not think so. Although many do not believe it, Spain has no other solution than the Monarchy. Maybe Franco was right about that, and everything was tied up and well tied up!”
“Yes, but the image of the king as the ‘Saviour of Democracy’ will be dead and buried.”
“Well, that’s true, but if I am to choose between History, the Monarchy, the King or the Truth, I prefer to stick with the Truth. It is my conscience. I’m going to turn seventy-seven years of age, and I’m already, as Baroja said, on the last turning of the road. I also owe it to my lieutenant Rubio, you already know the story.”
And there we left the conversation that day. It was then that he told me to take whatever notes I wanted, and he did this knowingly, as I had shown him many times that I was [as silent as] a tomb.4
The Masses Take to the Streets
My comrades and I met as arranged in the early hours of the morning to take stock of the situation. By degrees it became clear that the coup had collapsed. The media immediately began to spin the legend that it was all thanks to Juan Carlos who, in the middle of the affair, made a broadcast ordering all units of the armed forces to remain at their stations. We decided to get out a special four-page edition of the paper that should be ready first thing the following morning. My work was greatly facilitated by the fact that the centre page article on the collapse of the Centre was already printed for the coming issue, and that could be used as the main article in the special issue. I did not have to change a word of the perspectives contained in that article. All that was necessary was to add the words: “and then there was a coup” and everything fell nicely into place.
I worked hard to produce an editorial statement and, in the space of a few hours, the paper was printed. Early next morning, Nuevo Claridad was the first left paper to appear on the streets. Large numbers were snapped up and eagerly read by the workers and young people that day. Many people – members of the Socialist and Communist Parties – expressed their amazement that we, with our small forces and limited resources, were able to produce a paper that was on sale that morning before any other.
The coup had a very weak base in society and would have provoked an angry response from the working class that had lived through four decades of dictatorship and would not take it lying down. The ruling class was seriously concerned about the possibility of mass movements on the streets and in the factories. That these concerns were justified was shown by the spontaneous mass demonstrations that flared up on the streets of Madrid and other Spanish towns and cities the next day. The Interior Minister ordered all provincial civil governors to explain the situation to political and trade union leaders in their regions.
Although the working class was caught by surprise by the coup, some circles, guided by sure class instincts, came to the conclusion that very day of the need for arms to defend against it. This happened in some working-class villages of Andalusia, such as Badolatosa (where defence committees were organised at the entrances of the town, while neighbours exchanged shotguns and cartridges), as well as among the Asturian miners.
Despite the confusion and the fact that the top union leaders did not put forward a single slogan, that evening and the following day there were strikes and assemblies in dozens of companies. The coup was immediately confronted with a movement of the working class, beginning with mass strikes by Asturian miners, swiftly followed by the workers in Santander, Álava, Seville, Navarre, Barcelona and Madrid.
The demonstrations that swept across the country on 26 February, formally called by all parties but whose main contingent was made up of workers and their families, were the most massive in all history. More than 3 million people participated in them. Madrid, with a million-and-a-half and Barcelona, with half a million, were the most numerous.
Faced with the imminent threat of a fascist coup, how did the leaders of the workers’ movement react? Did they call a general strike, or call for mass demonstrations and protests? On the contrary. The two main socialist and communist trade unions held an emergency meeting and appealed for calm. They said that the seizure of the Cortes appeared to be “an isolated action”. They called on workers to be prepared to act rapidly in defence of democracy “if it became necessary.” But it was their most fervent hope that it would not be. In short, if it was up to the leaders, the coup would have succeeded without any resistance. Among the shrill chorus of those singing the praises of the king, that of Santiago Carrillo rang out loud and clear: “The king has saved democracy! Long live the king!”
Lahn’s Conversation With Juan Carlos
The morning after the coup, the king and Adolfo Suárez met with the leadership of the Armed Forces (JUJEM) to hear a detailed account of each and every step of the coup and the coup plotters from Francisco Laína García, the General Director of Security. Suárez interrupted him to demand the immediate arrest of General Armada. General José Gabeiras Montero, head of the JUJEM, looked at the king. Infuriated by his silence, Suárez shouted: “Don’t look at the king, look at me!” He was, after all, still the president of the Government. It was several days before Alfonso Armada would be arrested, and only when it became absolutely unavoidable.
At around five in the afternoon of 24 February the king held a meeting with leading members of the parties – González, Fraga, Carrillo and Rodríguez Sahagún. The text read to them by the king stated that the coup had failed but the government was still insecure. It concluded that: “It would be very unwise for the political forces to [launch] an open and harsh reaction against those who committed acts of subversion in the last hours”.
In other words: “OK, the coup failed this time, but you had better be careful, because there will be more of the same. So, you must shut up and leave the conspirators (and myself) alone!” It is hard to say what is most extraordinary here: the brazen insolence of the Monarch, who only a few hours before was toasting the success of the coup with champagne, or the abject servility of the political leaders, who listened to these words in silence, without uttering a single protest. Probably he had his arm twisted by the CIA, who were worried about the consequences of his actions.
It has long been suspected that the plotters, led by Lt. Col. Antonio Tejero, believed they were acting with the support of King Juan Carlos. But documents declassified by the German Foreign Ministry reveal a conversation between Lothar Lahn, the then-West German Ambassador, and Spain’s king just weeks after the failed coup d’état. In February 2012, the details of this private conversation held at Madrid’s Zarzuela Palace on 26 March 1981 were published by the German magazine Der Spiegel.
The king invited the diplomat to his residence for a private conversation. The meeting had been called to discuss the upcoming visit of Germany’s president to Spain, but naturally turned to the subject of the failed coup that had occurred only weeks before.
According to Lahn, the king “showed no indication of either antipathy or outrage vis-à-vis the actors (in the plot) but, rather, displayed much more understanding, if not sympathy.” The astonished diplomat wrote to his superiors in Bonn that the king had stated “almost apologetically” that the plotters had “only wanted what we are all striving for , namely, the re-establishment of discipline, order, security and calm”. He relates how the king told him that 23F “should be forgotten as soon as possible” and how he was planning to intercede before the government and the military justice in favour of the plotters so that “nothing too serious happens to them”.
It seemed to him that the monarch lay the blame at the feet of Adolfo Suárez rather than the coup leaders because he had “failed to establish a relationship with the military” and refused to take their “justified wishes seriously”. The king added that he now wanted to influence the government and the military courts, so that “not too much” would happen to the coup leaders, “who obviously only wanted the best” for the country. Since Alfonso Armada was Juan Carlos’s educator, trainer and close confidant, whom the king had appointed as deputy chief of the defence staff just eleven days before the coup attempt, this tender concern is hardly surprising. According to Der Spiegel, Armada “used his proximity to the king to make his fellow conspirators believe that he was acting on his instructions.”
The king also told Lahn that it would not happen again. The documents shed further light on the monarch’s true feelings of the events. Julián Casanova, a professor at the University of Zaragoza, who is one of the leading authorities on contemporary Spanish history, believes that Lahn’s Teletype, which bears the message number 524, is “extraordinarily important,” because it is the only written proof to date that Juan Carlos was keen to see the return of the kind of regime that had put him on the throne.
It comes as no surprise that the Spanish royal house refused to comment on the content of Lahn’s discussion with Juan Carlos, since there is naturally no record of this “private conversation” in the official archives of the Zarzuela Palace. The monarchy’s spokesmen dismissed the revelations, questioning the real motives of the German ambassador for sending the communiqué, and proclaiming: “The role of the king in defence of the constitution and democracy is clear for the whole of Spanish society.”
But there can be no doubt about the authenticity of the interview with the king transmitted to Bonn by Lahn. Unfortunately, Lahn can no longer answer questions about them, since he died in 1994. But he would have had absolutely no reason to invent them. Lahn was regarded as reliable by his colleagues. A professional diplomat with impeccable credentials, he was simply forwarding to his superiors what he had heard. He was just doing his job. His Teletype, which is kept in the political archive of the German foreign ministry in Berlin, has now been declassified by the government and published as part of an anthology of documents related to German diplomatic activities in 1981.
For their part, the rulers of Germany had no interest in making these things public. They were Spain’s most important advocate in its efforts to join NATO and the European Economic Community, the predecessor to the European Union. Chancellor Helmut Schmidt initialled the document and quietly placed it in the closed archives of the Foreign Ministry. Just a few days after Lahn visited the royal palace, Schmidt praised the “excellent role” the king was playing. He told his French counterpart François Mitterrand that Juan Carlos was a “very dependable and stable character.”
For years, Casanova himself had tried in vain to gain access to documents such as the transcripts of the trials of the failed putschists. Every measure has been taken to ensure that the truth is not known. But the truth has an unfortunate way of always forcing itself to the surface.
The Trial of the Coup Leaders
Solon the Great of Athens once said: “The law is like a spider’s web. The small are caught and the great tear it up.” How true these words are! The trial of the coup leaders opened in Madrid on 18 February 1982, one year after the coup. On 3 June it ended with sentences that were a shameful mockery of justice. Calvo-Sotelo himself summoned the media to a meeting in which they were instructed “not to gratuitously provoke the armed forces as a whole,” and to “respect the figure of the king”. More than anything else, this exposed the hollow and fraudulent nature of the so-called Democratic Transition.
The farce dragged on for almost four months. More than a trial of the conspirators, it seemed as if Leopoldo Calvo-Sotelo and his government and democracy itself were sitting on the accused bench. The defendants from the very start displayed an astonishing arrogance, deciding who should and who should not be present in the courtroom. The judicial investigation was a blatant cover-up, far from being a serious attempt to uncover the truth. It was abundantly clear that military justice, with the complicity of the government, never intended to investigate the matter in depth. It reflected a decision that was taken immediately following the failed coup to involve as few military personnel as possible.
The only ones convicted with significant sentences were Armada, Milans and Tejero, who only ten years later were already free or only going to prison to sleep. The other military personnel and civilians involved were either given symbolic sentences or acquitted. In fact, according to the court, with the sole exception of the Falange Chief, Juan García Carrés, no civilians had been involved in it. General Fernández Campo, the king’s friend and close confidant, exerted himself to save the king the unnecessary embarrassment of being cited to appear before the judges. Without a great deal of effort, it must be said, Sabino managed to convince the highest representatives of state institutions of the inconvenience of such an act. It was especially inconvenient in view of the fact that the chief defence of those accused of perpetrating the coup was that the defendants had acted “in obedience to the king.”
Most of the defence lawyers were of the opinion that Juan Carlos should make a declaration, even if it was only in writing. Sabino offered to perform this duty on behalf of the Monarch. This did not prevent officers of the highest rank, with the exception of Armada, from issuing statements that the king was informed of the execution of the coup and that he had even participated in its elaboration. But Fernández Campo waged a determined campaign designed to protect the king, privately briefing newspaper owners and front-line columnists to avoid any references to the king.
Since the armed forces and the king were at the very centre of the conspiracy, this meant in practice to keep quiet about the whole affair. The free press, which was supposed to be one of the main guarantors of democracy, found itself muzzled from day one. Instead of state censorship, the media were supposed to censor themselves. But the spirit of Franco-style censorship was alive and well in ‘democratic’ Spain.
In the end, the sixteen-man Supreme Council of Military Justice sentenced Milans del Bosch and Tejero to thirty years in jail, but it gave far lighter sentences to the other officers. Acting for the defence, judges General José Barcina Rodríguez and Admiral Justo Carrero Ramos angrily opposed the prison sentences and demanded conditional liberty for the plotters. When this was defeated by the casting vote of the presiding judge, they protested furiously, shouting that while lenient civilian judges were setting terrorists free, a military tribunal was handing down “harsh judgments” against “patriotic officers”. According to a report in El País, the situation turned violent and the conflict between the military justices was expressed “in more than words”. Following this incident, Admiral Carrero and General Barcina were sentenced to eight days and fourteen days of house arrest respectively.5
When the ruling of 23F was released on 3 June 1982, any references to the Monarch had disappeared. It seemed that, during those few decisive hours in the history of Spain, the king had played no role at all. The White Elephant remained safely hidden in the shadows. The meticulous work of Sabino Fernández Campo had paid off.
The coup plots did not end with 23F. The cowardly attitude of the leaders, refusing to mobilise the working class and the youth with each torture and assassination by the repressive bodies and the fascists, did nothing but encourage the latter and the clearly reactionary elements of the military caste. A few months after the coup, a hundred army and Civil Guard officers published a manifesto expressing their “understanding” for the golpistas (coup plotters) and came out against the democratisation of the army and in favour of its “autonomy in regard to political power.” Calvo-Sotelo’s only response was to give a few of those involved fourteen days of house arrest.
On 23 May 1981, a group of fascists, consisting of Civil Guards and lumpen proletarians, stormed the headquarters of the Central Bank in Barcelona taking more than a hundred hostages and demanding the release of those detained in relation to 23F. The true identity of the assailants, who were set free after a majority were detained by the GEO (Special Group of Operations), was never revealed. Even during the election campaign in October 1982, it was discovered that there was another plot to bring about a coup d’état before the vote was held. All these plots were aborted by the bourgeoisie for the same reasons they abandoned the 23F: the fear of a revolutionary response by the working class. Despite the ebbing of the labour movement, the forty-year dictatorship under Franco had not been forgotten.
All’s well that ends well…
The coup d’état did not end as they had expected and they were supposed to spend the rest of their lives behind bars, but their stay in the Castillo de la Palma prison in Ferrol was neither long nor hard. El Intermedio revealed, having spoken with some of their servants, that their cell had central heating and, according to Rafael Pillado, vice-president of the cultural association Fuco Buxan: “Their cell, which was not a cell at all, did not have bars. Such surroundings were more befitting for someone who was being treated exquisitely.” So, the life of those condemned for their part in the coup was not so bad after all.
While serving his sentence in the Caranza military prison, Milans del Bosch enjoyed the services of a butler, who served him the most exquisite dishes that Galician cuisine could provide: abundant fresh shellfish and fine wine. “As a butler I served them all their meals and attended to them during the day” explained Manuel Macías, the butler of Milans and Torres Rojas in El Intermedio. The general also received regular visits by female friends (read: high-class prostitutes). “But there was no viagra so I don’t know what he did,” mused Macías.
For his part, Antonio Tejero also enjoyed numerous favours of a kind ordinary prisoners were not usually accustomed to. Through the barless windows of his cell, Tejero enjoyed superb views of the estuary. He also had permission to receive visits, a free buffet of seafood and VIP treatment. “There was a big investment including heating, hot water, furniture, so that it was really more of a hotel than a prison” affirms historian Enrique Barrero.
Days before the thirty-third anniversary of the attempted coup d’état, Antonio Tejero, his son and other coup plotters like Jesús Muñecas, commemorated the date with a party in the barracks of the Civil Guard of Valdemoro. In total, twelve people were present at the celebration, which included an exhibition of vehicles and artillery and an enormous paella.
Needless to say, not one of them served the full sentence.
Endnotes
[1] Iñaki Anasagasti, 2011, ‘¿Por qué no se investiga el papel del Rey durante el 23-F?’, viewed 11 June 2019, https://blogs.deia.eus/anasagasti/2011/02/19/por-que-no-se-investiga-el-papel-del-rey-durante-el-23-f/
[2] This is also the version put forward by Jesús Palacios, and backed up by Luís María Ansón in El Cultural, 14 January 2011, ‘El 23-F de Jesús Palacios’.
[3] Quoted in his obituary in El País, 26 October 2009.
[4] Iñaki Anasagasti, 2013, ‘Recuerdos de Sabino Fernández Campo. Lo que pasó de verdad el 23F’, viewed 11 June 2019
[5] El País, 18 June, 1982.