Michael Coy
HAD he lived, Thursday, April 24, would have marked the 122nd birthday of “the Spanish Hitler”.
The 1930s was a time for charismatic young Fascists everywhere: Hitler, Mussolini – even Lindberg in the USA, and Britain’s own Oswald Mosley.
Spain was no exception.
José Antonio Primo de Rivera (always known simply as “José Antonio”) was assumed by many to be the next caudillo (the Spanish word for ‘Führer’). But he died young.
Unlike Franco, who was born into an obscure Galician family of naval officers, José Antonio always had great expectations. His father Miguel was dictator of Spain from 1923 to 1930, and as his eldest son, José Antonio was groomed for power.
Tall, handsome and intelligent, José Antonio was very sensitive to fashionable right-wing ideas, and formed the “Falange” in 1933.
This was Spain’s Fascist party.
An aristocrat (he was the Marquess of Estella) and a visionary, it is no exaggeration to say that José Antonio saw himself as a Spanish messiah.
Not only was he the son of the dictator: he was more intelligent than the people who were supposedly running the country.
In 1923, at the age of 20, he obtained both a degree and a doctorate from Madrid University – in a single year!
The rise of socialism and anarchism in the first third of the 20th century sharply divided society in Spain.
Just as in Germany and Italy, the big cities became left-wing strongholds, while the rural communities tended to hold on to traditional values.
Street violence was both a symptom of these divisions, and also fuel to the flames.
People, in despair, looked for ‘strong men’ to cure their nations’ ills, and some turned to dictators.
While Hitler’s followers adopted brown as their uniform and Mussolini chose black, the Spanish Fascists of José Antonio became the “blueshirts”.
Even today, you can occasionally hear the Fascist national anthem played or sung – Cara al Sol “Turn Your Face to the Sun”. The song is evidence of Fascism’s early, optimistic phase, and José Antonio co-wrote it.
Between 1934 and 1936, Spain was racked by violence.
Leading politicians were assassinated and it seemed that the country was becoming ungovernable. The centre parties tried to woo José Antonio.
At this stage, Franco was an unknown army officer, fighting a thankless and unwinnable colonial war in Morocco.
There was a general assumption that José Antonio would, in the near future, declare himself Fascist dictator of Spain.
The ‘traditional’ politicians failed to bring the young firebrand into their fold.
He had no incentive to join what he saw as a failing democratic model. As Fascists at the time were fond of saying, and as José Antonio believed, “the future belongs to me”.
By the spring of 1936, three months before civil war broke out, the Spanish government made a final attempt to control the right-wing agitation which was sweeping the country.
José Antonio was arrested on trumped-up charges of possessing arms. After being held in Madrid for a few weeks, he was transferred to Alicante in May.
Though no-one realised it at the time, this sealed his fate.
The centre-left government thought that Alicante, being out-of-the-way, would be the ideal place to hold him. He would be isolated from his passionate followers.
In July, Franco and his rightist group of army officers rebelled against the Madrid government. The coup went off half-cocked.
This meant war.
The nation was split into two camps, Right and Left.
Unfortunately for José Antonio, Alicante was a firmly left-wing zone.
On 20 November 1936, he was executed by firing-squad.
His last request was that the prison yard be hosed down after his death, so that his brother (also a prisoner) would not have to tread in his bloodstains.
There has been a lot of speculation about Franco’s role in the demise of his rivals.
Sanjurjo, Mola, José Antonio – they all died violently, and their grim fate cleared the way for the uncharismatic soldier.
Was Franco complicit?
José Antonio had always been a romantic figure, and his premature death added to the myth. His supporters (during the civil war and for decades after) would shout the name of their departed leader, then yell “Presente!”
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