AFTER FRANCO: HOPE AND FEAR

As advancing age began taking its inexorable toll, Francisco Franco periodically pledged to his countrymen that he would rule Spain only "as long as God gives me life and a clear mind." It was apparent last week that the pledge was soon to come due, despite the determination with which the 82-year-old Generalissimo clung to the absolute power he had been wielding for nearly four decades. Severely weakened by a series of heart attacks, Western Europe's last dictator at week's end was barely hanging on to life. As the last rites of the Roman Catholic Church were administered, his family gathered at El Pardo Palace, his countrymen waited expectantly for word of the inevitable, and officials prepared for a three-day national mourning period.

The death of Franco will end an epoch for both Spain and Europe. Long the Continent's most reviled pariah, Franco was a haunting, living reminder that the West had failed to act decisively during the Spanish Civil War, when the forces of Communism, Fascism and democracy confronted each other in what turned out to be a dress rehearsal for World War II. In the postwar years, Franco confounded his numerous critics by taming a naturally rebellious nation that had spawned anarchy and by bringing Spanish society into the modern industrial age (see following story). Yet, like most dictators, he did not know when to quit. Most of his countrymen thus accept his demise as long overdue. Only among the faithful--the Civil War veterans, the rightist youth, the shopkeepers who long ago rallied to the Falange--is there a genuine outpouring of emotion for the man who has been the only leader that 70% of Spain's 35 million people ever knew.

Yet there is also apprehension that the old hatreds bred in the bloody Civil War, unresolved ethnic and geographic differences, and the bitterness of the years of selective repression may rise to the surface. For more than a decade Spain has been obsessed with the question: After Franco, what? It is now about to find out.

Technically, at least, Franco answered that with the 1947 Law of Succession, which declares Spain a monarchy; later he decreed that within eight days of his death his power would devolve upon Prince Juan Carlos de Borbon y Borbon, 37 (see box page 26), who as King of Spain will ascend the throne vacated 44 years ago by his grandfather, Alfonso XIII. Yet few observers expect the inexperienced, untested Prince to be able to control the political forces that will certainly be unleashed by Franco's departure.

Franco's final crisis came quickly and unexpectedly. A month ago Franco--with Juan Carlos at his side--had appeared on the Royal Palace balcony to accept the homage of a mass rally in Madrid's Plaza de Oriente and he seemed vigorous for a man of his years (TIME, Oct. 13). Then, in the midst of an Oct. 17 Cabinet meeting at El Pardo Palace, his official residence outside Madrid, he announced that he was feeling queasy and excused himself from the room. The next morning Spain was swept by rumors about the state of his health.

For four days uncertainty mounted as the government refused to comment on Franco's condition; finally, the dictator's doctor announced that "in the course of an attack of influenza" he had "suffered an acute coronary crisis." Hoping to convince the public that Franco was indeed "recovering satisfactorily," as the bulletin claimed, the palace began issuing a steady stream of suspiciously cheerful news items reporting that Franco had "walked through his rooms," watched a film and talked animatedly with his family. It was even announced that he intended to preside over last Friday's regular Cabinet meeting.

Despite these sanguine bulletins, Franco's condition was deteriorating. Thursday night, the eleven physicians attending him announced that he had suffered a relapse and "early signs of cardiac insufficiency had appeared." As this news spread, bars and restaurants in Madrid began closing early; a few groups of youths roamed the capital's streets mournfully chanting, "Franco. Franco. Franco."

Meanwhile, the Cabinet met in a marathon nine-hour session, grappling with both the Sahara crisis (see story page 41) and the imminent succession. At the meeting Premier Carlos Arias Navarro continued the search for a consensus that he had begun earlier that week, when he had huddled with leaders of Spain's Establishment--the Movimiento National (the sole party allowed), the military and Franco's family. His goal: to gain enough backing to allow him to tell the enfeebled dictator it was time to step aside. Only the family members and some of Franco's closest and oldest aides refused to concur. When told about the doctors' announcement of Franco's setback, Arias apparently rushed to El Pardo Palace to get a signature on a document transferring authority to Juan Carlos. The doctors, however, stopped the Premier from entering the sickroom, warning that "it would kill Franco to take a pen in his hand now."

The transfer of power in a dictatorship is seldom smooth. Yet it is probable that Juan Carlos' authority will not be challenged immediately. "Although many people in the opposition will not accept him because of his close association with Franco," observed Centrist Politician Marcelino Oreja, "most Spaniards want to give him a chance." No one knows for certain, however, whether Juan Carlos has the courage to break with the "bunker"--the group of hardline rightists who were Franco's most loyal backers and can be expected to oppose any realistic political reforms.

The first clue to Juan Carlos' policies will be his choice of a new government. It is expected that Premier Arias, as a matter of form, will submit his own and his Cabinet members' resignations. A dour former chief of Spain's hated internal-security apparatus, Arias has little personal ambition. "I want to be Franco's last Prime Minister but not Juan Carlos' first one," he once confided to a friend. Nonetheless, if Juan Carlos urges Arias to carry on in office with his ministers, that will be interpreted by the left as a signal that Spain is not about to change very quickly.

Despite his disagreeable record as Spain's top cop, Arias turned out to be something of a reformist Premier during his 20 months in office, advocating a scheme to permit "political associations" to organize and participate in local elections. The left, though, harshly criticizes him for backtracking on these reforms after he encountered opposition from the men in the "bunker."

Most probably the King will lean heavily on the Franco Establishment--the only politicians he has ever known--and risk leftist anger by forming a "government of national unity" under the premiership of either Arias or another moderate rightist. One possible candidate: Manuel Fraga Iribarne, head of an important center-rightist opposition group that includes many prominent politicians. As Minister of Tourism and Information in the 1960s, Fraga was the architect both of Spain's astounding tourist boom and of a press-law revision that relaxed censorship somewhat. Any new Premier of the moderate right, including Arias, might be tolerable to the moderate left--at least at the start--if the most obdurate hard-liners were dropped from the Cabinet and replaced by new ministers willing to introduce a cautious liberalization.

The most dangerous course the new regime could take would be to ignore the pressures for change that have been surging through Spain for nearly two years. Last winter, after demonstrations by dissatisfied students calling for reforms of the universities and the political system, the government retaliated by closing the country's ten universities for periods of up to eight months. Workers, though prohibited by law from striking, have nonetheless walked off the job in wildcat actions in thousands of plants and offices; they have been protesting rising prices and the ban on free unions.

There have also been signs of dissatisfaction on the right. The hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, long a key pillar of Franco's reign, has become increasingly impatient with the regime's refusal to change. Last spring the Roman Catholic Episcopal Conference endorsed reforms to ensure freedom of assembly and speech. In industrial and mining centers, many parish priests have been supporting the illegal comisiones obreras (underground labor unions), allowing them to meet in the churches and distributing food to their members when they strike. A center-rightist "study group," whose members include Manuel Fraga Iribarne and the Count of Motrico, a leading monarchist, two months ago demanded that the regime "change from an authoritarian to a democratic system."

Franco crudely and contemptuously dismissed his opposition as "yapping dogs," even though most of the moderates' demands for change are far from revolutionary. They would probably be satisfied, for a start, with such reforms as legalizing trade unions and allowing political parties to organize and compete with the Movimiento Nacional. Many of the Socialists, for instance, seem willing to give a Juan Carlos regime a chance. A moderate politician probably caught the mood of most Spaniards when he said that the post-Franco evolution must come "poco a poco [little by little]. We do not want Lisbon street scenes here."

That is not necessarily the view of the Spanish Communist Party--probably the best organized of Spain's illegal political groups. From its four-room Paris headquarters-in-exile, Party Secretary-General Santiago Carrillo keeps in touch with an estimated 12,000 active members in Spain by couriers and a constantly changing network of "safe" telephones. Carrillo has repeatedly voiced his opposition to Juan Carlos. "The Prince is, in effect, the son of Franco," the Secretary recently told TIME Chief European Correspondent William Rademaekers. "All Franco's structures will have to disappear, including Juan Carlos. If the people decide they want a monarch, then he will be Don Juan"--Juan Carlos' father, who has been living in exile in Portugal.

Even the Communists do not demand an immediate radicalization of Spanish society. Unlike Portugal's hard-lining Stalinist party boss, Alvaro Cunhal, Carrillo claims that he favors a democratic, pluralistic state that would permit basic freedoms. The Communists are in a good position to push their program: they have heavily infiltrated the legal trade union movement, the clandestine comisiones obreras and groups of lawyers, doctors and engineers.

The Communists will oppose any government that does not include members of the Junta Democratica, an organization founded last year that supposedly represents centrist and leftist groups but is probably a Communist front. If the new regime fails to bring the Socialists into the government, the Communists may also try to woo them into an opposition national-front movement. "If Juan Carlos does not offer change and change quickly," warned a party official last week in Madrid, "he will be consigning himself to oblivion." From Paris, Carrillo was blunter, vowing "a wave of terror that will lead to a new civil war" if the hard-line rightists retain control of the government.

Spain's extremists, however, are likely to beat the Communists to the punch. The Basque terrorists have already vowed to continue their struggle "until we achieve our goals" of a semi-autonomous state in the provinces of Vizcaya and Guipuzcoa. The Revolutionary Anti-Fascist Patriotic Front (FRAP), a tiny (200 member) Marxist urban-guerrilla organization, will probably continue its campaign of selected shootings and bombings aimed at disrupting public order.

Any movement by the new government toward a liberalization of the Spanish political system would almost certainly enrage much of the rightist Establishment that has been reaping most of the political benefits of Franco's long reign. As the only party through which the factions backing the regime have been allowed to function, the Movimiento Nacional has dominated nearly every organized activity in the country, from farmers' associations to sports groups. The Movimiento's secretary, currently Jose Solis Ruiz, even has an automatic seat in the Cabinet. He is expected to emerge as a key critic of the new regime if it moves toward liberalization too rapidly for the right. Also likely to protest reforms is the leadership of the sindicales, the official labor unions that are sure to lose their privileged position if free unions are permitted.

The old Falange veterans, who fought under their Caudillo during the Civil War, feel a deep loyalty to the existing political structures. If the "bunker" denounces reformist measures as the work of Communists, these former soldiers might well take to the streets with rallies and demonstrations. The Communists and other leftists would probably respond with counterprotests and a wave of economy-crippling strikes.

If the new regime fails to prevent a clash between rival political groups, Spain's military commanders may feel compelled to step in. Although kept deliberately apolitical by Franco, the officer corps is believed to be solidly loyal to el Caudillo's plans for the succession. Unlike Portugal's officers, they have not been radicalized by exposure to Marxist rebels in a losing African colonial war. The new King, in fact, is reportedly popular with the officers.

Mot all Spanish officers are rightists. Many are known to be unhappy with the unpopular political task, imposed on the army by Franco only last year, of having to try and execute terrorists charged with killing policemen. There is a core of military moderates--officers who once studied at the High General Staff School under General Manuel Diez Alegria, who was abruptly sacked as army chief of staff by Franco in June 1974. Reason: Diez had openly advocated that the government ease its repression of dissidents and he was also being likened to Antonio de Spinola, the Portuguese general who played a key part in toppling the fascist dictatorship in Lisbon. Anonymous senders even began mailing Diez Alegria monocles--Spinola's hallmark.

The world will be closely watching Spain for any sign of the "Portuguese malaise," the chaos and political turmoil that have plagued Lisbon since the overthrow of its dictatorship 18 months ago. Yet contagion seems unlikely. Thanks in part to Franco, who in the 1960s presided over the country's most rapid transformation in its history, Spain today has a much better base for a peaceful transformation to a democracy than its Iberian neighbor.

If Juan Carlos can manage his country through its post-Franco transition, Western Europe and the U.S. will welcome a more open and politically pluralistic Spain as a full participant in the Western community; it would probably be invited to enter the Common Market and even join the North Atlantic Treaty Organization--two bodies closed to it as long as Franco remained in power. The U.S. would like to continue a special relationship of more than two decades, enabling Washington to maintain its key air and naval bases in Spain, for which a new five-year accord has just been negotiated. No one, however, could possibly welcome a peaceful transition more than the Spaniards themselves. With memories and tales of Civil War horrors still vivid and haunting, there is nothing more feared by Spaniards--except for the terrorists--than a renewal of that fratricidal bloodletting.

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