Spain: The Right Clamps Down

A Spaniard visiting Moscow stops at the Kremlin wall, where his Russian host takes him to view Lenin's remains. "We have one like that," shrugs the Spaniard. "But he sits up and talks." That Madrid joke about ailing Generalissimo Francisco Franco, 82, would be merely crude were it not for the fact that it reflects a deep-rooted bitterness. After 35 years of living under a dictatorial regime notable mostly for its rigid stability, many Spaniards these days are worried about both the erratic course of the Franco regime and el Caudillo 's ability to run the country.

Spaniards have grown increasingly restive since Franco reclaimed the powers he briefly relinquished to Prince Juan Carlos, 37, after suffering a near-fatal stroke last summer. The government has grappled uncertainly with the problems assaulting it on all sides. Says one longtime political expert who is now outside Franco's government: "If the present situation is prolonged indefinitely, it will be disastrous."

Franco's return to power set off a largely behind-the-scenes struggle. Right-wing veterans of the Falange movement warn that if dissidence festers, Spain faces the kind of disorder that they now feel exists in Portugal. Opposed to the Old Guard are reformers who argue that if Spain does not move toward change, discontent will become uncontainable.

Although the government has sought to exhibit an air of calm about recent events in Portugal, there is no question that it is extremely concerned about the centrifugal pull the Portuguese revolution could have on Spain. The regime's response has been to clamp down even more. Says one leading Socialist: "The Old Guard is praying desperately that the Portuguese revolution will fail. Although the government is saying nothing, we know many of its members are secretly delighted that Portugal seems to be moving to a military dictatorship of the left. This is bad news for us too. We want a democratic Spain, and our chances of achieving that can be destroyed if the Portuguese Communists and military go too far."

In the middle of the struggle is Premier Carlos Arias Navarro, 66, a former mayor of Madrid and Interior Minister. He became No. 2 man in the government just over a year ago after Basque separatists assassinated Admiral

Luis Carrero Blanco, whom Franco had designated "the bridge for the succession." Although respected for his integrity, Arias does not really have Franco's ear and thus finds it hard to control the Cabinet factions. His major innovation--an aperturismo, or opening, of the political process--was to have allowed a spectrum of parties to organize. But because the law in effect gave the Falange power to decide which parties were permissible, the offer failed to attract any new groups.

Pitched Battles. Labor unrest appears to be Arias' biggest problem. Although strikes are technically forbidden, there were 2,196 "labor conflicts" in 1974 involving more than 700,000 workers. In the rebellious Basque country, 200,000 workers went on a one-day general strike on the anniversary of the Burgos trials of 16 Basque guerrillas charged with the murder of a police chief. Many of the strikes involve worker complaints that government-proposed cost of living increases are not keeping up with Spain's inflation rate (24% last year). More importantly, for the first time in Spanish history, workers in one industry have openly supported dissident workers in another industry.

University students are also unhappy. Late last month at Valladolid University, angry students bombarded an unpopular rector with eggs. Police seized on what would ordinarily be regarded as a minor incident to shut down most of the university until next October, effectively cutting off a year's study for 10,000 students. Strikes have periodically closed down universities all across Spain, and there have been pitched battles between demonstrators and police. Last week a substantial number of the University of Madrid's 70,000 students were still boycotting classes to protest the closing of Valladolid.

The support of two traditional pillars of the Franco regime--the Roman Catholic Church and the army--is also faltering. The clergy has become increasingly critical of the government. Numerous priests, particularly in the north of Spain, have been detained and fined for delivering sermons considered radical. Last week even the usually conservative Archbishop of Madrid. Vicente Cardinal Enrique y Tarancon, expressed anger over the government's peremptory ban of a long-planned church rally to discuss conditions among poor migrants in the Madrid suburb of Vallecas. The reason given was that extremists planned to use the meeting to voice antigovernment feelings.

Prison Terms. Symptomatic of the military's discontent, two army officers, Major Julio Busquets, 42, and Captain Jose Julvez, 27, recently refused to carry out an order to survey the political opinions of railway workers in restless Barcelona. Two days later, some 25 officers in the Barcelona area signed a statement supporting the men, asserting that "the army is not a public order force, but is to serve the people." Both men drew prison terms.

Franco, meanwhile, shows no sign of being willing to step aside. Although he suffers from Parkinson's disease, phlebitis and a palsied right hand, he still meets with selected ministers and presides over the ritual Friday-morning Cabinet meeting. But Cabinet meetings are no longer the five-hour sessions they once were, when Franco was aware of the most inconsequential details of the proceedings. Says an intimate: "The old man doesn't want to be told what he doesn't want to hear. He is not really aware of the new Spain."

Many Spaniards fear that the right-wing Falangists--who do have his ear --will tell him something he may want to hear: that more repression is the answer. In that case, the flag of liberalization, already at half-staff, may come down altogether.

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