Islanders: Franco is dead

Palm"Spaniards: Franco... is dead." With these words, amidst tears, the then-president of the regional government, Carlos Arias Navarro, announced on television what everyone already knew: the dictator's death, in the early hours of November 20, 1975. It was the 'biological fact' of his passing, as it was called then. We remember how that event was experienced in the Balearic Islands 50 years ago.

It was a long agony, with successive updates from the 'usual medical team,' who kept reporting on the multiple ailments accumulating in the 82-year-old, along with the corresponding surgeries. Since October 30, the 'Prince of Spain,' Juan Carlos de Borbón, had assumed the role of acting head of state. As if that weren't enough, taking advantage of this moment of weakness in the dictatorship, the King of Morocco, Hassan II, launched 350,000 civilians—the Green March—into the then Spanish colony of Western Sahara. Just a few days later, control of the territory was ceded to Morocco and Mauritania, without the decolonization process established by the United Nations being carried out.

The dictatorship, which until then had seemed unquestionable, had already suffered an insurmountable blow with the assassination, just two years earlier, of the regime's strongman, Luis Carrero Blanco, the Prime Minister. He had been succeeded by Carlos Arias Navarro, who had initiated a timid opening, whose law on associations provided for a supposed pluralism. This satisfied no one: neither the hardliners – the 'bunker' – nor the opposition, from the moderate right to the forces to the left of the Communist Party – all illegal, of course – which advocated for a genuine democratic system. Furthermore, the supposed economic benefits of Francoism had collapsed with the international crisis of 1973.

In those days, everyone was uneasy. The Francoists, because, although in theory the succession mechanisms guaranteed their continuity, who knew if the dictator's physical disappearance wouldn't give wings to the 'enemies of Spain'—you know: the 'Jewish-Masonic conspiracy'. The illegal opposition, in case the regime would take advantage of the moment to intensify repression. "There was talk," as the writer Antoni Serra recounts, "of the famous 'lists' [of leftists] and of possible imminent arrests of prominent opposition figures. Calm, serenity, and above all, that security measures be taken to the extreme, that is to say, if possible, not to sleep in our own homes."

Lompart: "Franco, Slightly Dead"

The civil government, headed by the far-right Carlos de Meer, drafted the Slingers' Plan—named after the mercenaries of Antiquity—outlining a series of measures in case the opposition was tempted to stage any kind of protest. Control of government buildings, industries, and the media had to be secured. The plan established 33 strategic points in Mallorca, including the airport, Mercapalma (the main wholesale market), the provincial prison, and Marivent Palace. If necessary, the militants of the "Movement" were to be called upon and given arms.

Everyone followed the newspapers with interest—there were no digital editions or social media back then, and only one television channel: the state-run one. On November 14, Latest News The headline on the front page read: "Franco: 37 kg." This was so symptomatic of the irreversible physical decline of the 'providential man' that the edition was nearly seized by the authorities under Manuel Fraga Iribarne's Press Law.

The outcome was expected at any moment. At one of the meetings of the Catalan Culture Congress, which was taking place around the same time, the writer Josep Maria Llompart, a notorious anti-Francoist, remarked that he knew "for a fact" the headline that the press of the 'Movement' had come up with for the front page, because, this time, it seemed to be going "lightly": "Franco.

Of course, the newspaper editorial offices focused on reporting on the evolution of the dictator, which, in a way, mirrored that of his regime. Many placed their hopes in the future king, even though he had been chosen by Franco and had sworn to uphold the principles of the 'Movement'. In those days, in the newsroom of Daily of MallorcaProminent members of the clandestine opposition, such as Félix Pons (PSOE), Manuel Mora (Popular Socialist Party), the communists Francesca Bosch and Ignasi Ribas, and Llompart himself, gathered in search of news.

It was six in the morning on November 20th when Radio Nacional de España announced the 'biological fact'. Four hours later, Carlos Arias Navarro delivered his tearful address. It was still early morning in Palma when members of the José Antonio Circle, in Falangist uniforms, paid homage to the dictator with a parade from the Plaza de Cort to the Cross of the Fallen next to the Cathedral, passing by the monument to the cruiser Balearics at Feixina.

Champagne, eels and a frying pan

Latest News It was published in three editions that same day, breaking its print run record. Some expressed their grief, and others toasted with cava—of course, very discreetly and with family, lest the 'grises,' the police of the dictatorship, find out. Abel Matutes, who just a year and a half later would be one of the signatories of the pact for autonomy and elected senator in democratic elections, referred to the void and the feeling of abandonment that this disappearance generated. Josep Melià, then a dissident member of the Francoist Cortes, admitted, in statements to Miquel Payeras, that he had had "a little sip," in homage to his aunt Marta, from Mexico, who had been saving a bottle of champagne for twenty years for the occasion.

Melià was in Madrid at the time, carrying out his duties: "There was fear, but also hypocrisy." He witnessed how one of Franco's "cleansers," Merry, and her then-husband, Jimmy Giménez-Arnau, participated the day after the dictator's death in a "drug-fueled party" with alcohol and cocaine. The Mallorcan prosecutor was among those who thought that Franco had actually died "two or three days earlier," and he also recounted how the nurses who brought him the Virgin of Pilar's mantle "used a scalpel to remove the precious stones and take them away."

Miquel Rosselló, then a member of the highly illegal Communist Party—the regime's "beast"—remembers: "I woke up to the bells of all of Palma ringing" and he embraced his partner, Lila Thomàs, "enthusiastically." "Many bottles of champagne were opened to celebrate. But there were also many people crying (...). The feeling among most of the population was one of fear. Fear of what might happen, of a new civil war."

"We celebrated the dictator's death, but in small groups," Rosselló confesses about what he did with his friends. At one of their houses, with Lila Thomàs, Pep Vílchez, and two other friends, they made a good paella. "We sang revolutionary songs and drank as much as we could," he recounts.

Damià Ferrà-Ponç, later a politician with the Socialist Party of Mallorca and the PSOE, invited his wife to dinner in Muro, with eels and champagne, and had the impression that there were more people that night in the restaurant, that it was a celebration. In contrast, the Christian Democrat Joan Casals' Catholic faith prevented him from toasting anyone's death: he prayed and asked God for forgiveness for the dictator's sins. This was despite Franco having exiled him to the Canary Islands to participate in the 'Munich Conspiracy,' the opposition meeting held in that German city in 1962. For its part, the regime bid farewell to the dictator with full official honors. The following day, a solemn funeral was held in the Cathedral of Mallorca, presided over by Bishop Teodor Úbeda, and attended by the governor. Although Úbeda had already distinguished himself through his critical stance, for the moment he chose to go along with the regime. However, the Bishop of Menorca, Miquel Moncades, did let slip a few remarks that displeased the hardliners, as graffiti depicting the 'bunker' appeared in Ciutadella in protest against his words.

The single television channel offered, as an endless spectacle, the long lines of people in Madrid filing past the dictator's coffin, giving the fascist salute with their arms raised, weeping, or displaying other signs of mourning. And, three days later, the funeral presided over by the now King Juan Carlos and the burial in the Valley of the Fallen—from which, as is well known, he would be removed in 2019. A hundred people from Mallorca and Menorca, who had traveled expressly from the islands, attended this official ceremony. The Palma City Council unanimously approved naming a sports center after Franco and erecting a statue in his honor, although neither of these measures was ever implemented. The City Council had to clarify that the broad pardon granted by the central government for the dictator's death did not include traffic violations.

What seemed like it would never happen had finally occurred, and Franco had died in his bed after almost forty years of personal dictatorship. And, just as he himself had said in his 1969 Christmas speech, everything was "signed and firmly in place," with the succession of the new head of state. Or could it be that something else entirely?

Information compiled from the texts of Joan Mas Quetglas, Miquel Payeras, Josep Pons Fraga and Joan Cerdà i Subirachs, the memoirs of Antoni Serra and Miquel Rosselló, the collective volume Memoria viva and the island newspapers of the time: Última Hora, Diario de Mallorca, Baleares, Menorca.