February 23, 1981: "El 23-F"

Today is the 30th anniversary of the attempt to overthrow the democratic government in Spain, known as "el 23-F" for the date on which is occurred, February 23.  I have never known whether to call this day a "coup" or an "attempted coup," but I have seen both used with alarming interchangeability. On the one hand, it would seem right to call it an attempted coup. After all, no new government was installed and the attempt was, in the end, a failed one. Yet for a day, at least within the confines of the Congreso de los Diputados in Madrid, Spain was held hostage to the demands of the right-wing military golpistas that occupied Congress in their green uniforms and tri-cornered hats. Considering the fact that the attempted coup occurred just 6 years after Franco's death and 3 years after the new Spanish Constitution was passed, el 23-F must have been a terrifying reminder that the past was by no means past (see an overview of the events in this Guardian article from February 23, 1981).

On this day, Spain was about to elect a new prime minister, Leopoldo Calvo Sotelo (see obituary here); Congress was in session when suddenly, a swarm of civil guards, led by the lieutenant colonel Antonio Tejero, entered the building and began shouting for everyone to get down. Shots were fired -- Congress deputies dove beneath their desks, but a few remained seated (one of whom, Adolfo Suárez, helped provide the spark for Anatomía de un instante/Anatomy of a Moment, Javier Cercas's excellent dissection of that day).

At 1:15 a.m., King Juan Carlos I appeared on TV to defend the Constitution (this aspect of February 23 -- that is, the King's heroism -- has been a matter of fierce debate between those who support the monarchy and those who feel the King, who was put in place by Franco, needs to step aside). Order was eventually restored, and Tejero only served a year under house arrest. The date was a defining moment of the Spanish transition to democracy. The long-standing narrative of the harmonious, bloodless transition to democracy in Spain has been dismantled in recent years, but considered alongside some of the recent events in Egypt, Bahrain and Libya, it is hard not to marvel at the fact that Spain's young democracy was able to survive this day (of course, democracy had already been "in place" for several years in Spain).

Below, a few videos to help illustrate February 23, 1981. All are in Spanish only. I have yet to find a video in English on this day.

Probably the most well-known video sequence of that day:


An interesting re-creation of what was going on outside:


Trailer from a new film on February 23 (official website here):


For more, see special in Público

"Desaparecidos" (Disappeared) displays the work of Gervasio Sánchez

The CCCB (Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona) is currently showing the work of Gervasio Sánchez, a Spanish photojournalist that has spent a large part of his career documenting the "disappeared":

The Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona, La Casa Encendida de Obra Social Caja Madrid and the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Castilla y León simultaneously present the exhibition “The Disappeared”, curated by photojournalist Sandra Balsells. This photographic show by photojournalist Gervasio Sánchez addresses the theme of forced disappearance in Chile, Argentina, Peru, Colombia, El Salvador, Guatemala, Iraq, Cambodia, Bosnia-Herzegovina and Spain between 1998 and 2010.

“The Disappeared” represents a forceful document against forgetting and aims to salvage the suppressed memory of people disappeared during various wars and processes of repression. The presentation of the exhibition forms part of a major cultural action which, for the first time on the Spanish expository scene, involves the simultaneous exhibition in three cities (León, Barcelona and Madrid) of a macro photographic project centring on a single theme, by the same author.

Each centre will show a broad but completely different selection of photographs, making it a truly new expository proposal (MUSAC: 79 photographs and installation of portraits, "Cruelty and Pain", the joint work of Gervasio Sánchez and Ricardo Calero; La Casa Encendida: 73 photographs and 4 murals with 40 portraits; CCCB: 103 photographs and 4 murals with 40 portraits). The three exhibitions share the same narrative structure and thematic blocks, and all three end with a significant epilogue devoted to Spain, dealing with the present-day process of search for and exhumation of people who disappeared during the Civil War and the Francoist dictatorship.

In addition to photographic material, the exhibition includes two audiovisual recordings explaining the testimonies of the families of disappeared people and reproducing the ambient sound of detention centres and burial places.

In the framework of the exhibition, the three centres will also be organizing conferences to reflect on and debate the phenomenon of forced disappearance.

More information here (English) and at the photographer's personal blog (Spanish). Sánchez's blog, Los desastres de la guerra, which takes its name after the famous Goya grabado, contains detailed descriptions of some of the photographs displayed in the exhibit.

In this video, Sánchez describes his work on the "disappeared," the importance of documenting absence and the effects of forced disappearance on the victim's family members.He also discusses the world of (photo)journalism today.