The Military Moves In

Miniskirts on the Gran Via? Bikinis on the beaches? Student protests in the universities? An increasingly outspoken press? To many Spaniards, these outward and visible evidences of an inward and spiritual change in the nation's life came as welcome relief from the all-pervasive greyness that had characterized the rule of Generalissimo Francisco Franco ever since he was named Chief of State in 1939. The five-year experiment with liberalization, however, had horrified the archconservative military, and they made little secret of their concern. Two weeks ago, alarmed by student violence in Madrid and Barcelona, Franco declared an official state of emergency.

His act might well be described as a military coup.

For the past year, the un easiness of Spain's military leaders had come to focus on five major areas: the press, the lawyers, labor, the church and the universities.

Spain's traditionally conservative bishops last fall unanimously signed a pastoral letter calling on the government to abandon delays in enacting a mild labor-reform bill, and younger priests began pressing for social reforms. In January, Madrid's bar association passed by acclamation a resolution demanding better treatment for political prisoners. News papers and magazines, given comparatively comprehensive freedoms by the press law of 1966, had become more and more candid in their appraisals of the regime. Labor unrest continued to grow.

The universities became prime areas of concern for the military, and in mid-January two separate incidents heightened their fears. In Barcelona, students tried to hurl the university's rector from his office window.

And in Madrid, the death of a student while in security-police custody set off a wave of protest. Bands of students roamed the streets shouting "Franco assassin!" and attacking passing cars.

Angry Admiral. In one of those cars was Rear Admiral Antonio Gonzalez-Aller, the No. 2 navy man on Spain's equivalent of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

For him, the incident was the final provocation. Unharmed in the attack but fighting mad, he stormed into the office of Franco's right-hand man, Vice Pres ident Luis Carrero Blanco, and demanded that the government crack down. If it did not, he blustered, the military would take matters into its own hands.

Carrero is a complicated man; he is not a liberal, but he has not opposed the liberalizing measures of recent years. Nonetheless, he agreed with Gonzalez-Aller that drastic measures had indeed become necessary.

Picking up a phone, he checked with the commanders of Spain's seven military districts. All but one demanded that a state of emergency be declared--and the one exception, Barcelona's leader, said he would accept nothing less than a return to full military rule. Armed with this information, Carrero consulted the three military ministers and proceeded to draw up the emergency decree. Bypassing the Cabinet's liberals, Carrero then went directly to Franco and convinced the generalissimo that the declaration was vital. Next day, at the regular weekly Cabinet meeting, Franco ordered that the decree be passed unanimously, without change or discussion. Ultimatums are not Franco's style, but when he so orders, the Cabinet jumps. The decree was approved.

Mass Arrests. Swept away were the press freedoms, won after long and agonizing debate nearly three years ago. Madrid and Barcelona universities were closed, and five articles of the Bill of Rights were suspended. Police, free now to search and arrest without warrants, picked up an estimated 500 suspects for questioning. At first glance, the months ahead promised nothing but misery for Spanish liberals.

But where were the tanks, the troops, the barricades? Nowhere in view: if anything, there seemed to be fewer police in sight than usual. After brief questioning, some 300 of the arrested suspects were released. Among the 250 remaining in custody, few seemed to be of any great importance. Late in the week, however, the government sent 19 prominent dissenters into exile in remote villages for the duration of the emergency. The reason? Links with the student rebels, who in fact seemed to be primary targets for the crackdown. "They're going to hit the leaders of the anarchist movement in the universities," predicted one official, "and that means both professors and students."

Other sources felt that press freedom was likely to be the major casualty. Every Spanish publication now must submit everything it prints to the censors, and the cuts are far-ranging. "They're even censoring my fashion pictures," a Madrid editor complains.

Signs of Aging. Perhaps the most important casualty will be the continuing effort to sort out the problem of Franco's succession. A month ago, several Cabinet ministers began a drive to persuade Franco to name Prince Juan Carlos as his successor. Not a particularly inspiring figure, Juan Carlos could be expected to be a figurehead king, and thus ensure the perpetuation of the Caudillo's ideals. Now that effort has been dropped, largely because, as one proponent says, "it would look as if he were being brought in by bayonets."

Franco himself, in what seemed an obvious attempt to ease concern over the succession problem, permitted the publication last week of the detailed results of his recent physical checkups. Given Franco's usual reserve, the release was unprecedented--and it underscored the importance of alleviating recent rumors that his health was failing. Correspondents who saw him in person last week, however, noted that the 76-year-old leader was showing distinct signs of aging. There was no promise from Franco or anyone else that the state of emergency would expire at the end of three months as decreed--it might well be extended.

Even more in doubt was the necessity for the action. The problems of Spain, reported TIME Correspondent John Blashill from Madrid, are anything but overwhelming. There is, in fact, no emergency. But the generals infinitely complicated Spain's problems. The state of emergency will not keep the universities quiet for long; it will not quell labor unrest or restore the once unqualified support of the Catholic Church. It will frighten away tourists, discourage private investment and damage the economy. As a former government minister put it: "The generals solved nothing; they aggravated everything."

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