By Charlie Devereux
MADRID, Feb 25 (Reuters) – The cameras kept rolling as the Civil Guard officer in a tricorn hat strode into the chamber of Spain’s parliament brandishing a pistol at 6.23 p.m. on February 23, 1981, then ordered its lawmakers to be silent and get on the floor.
Moments later he was joined by more rebel Civil Guards holding machine guns. As shots were fired in the air, the lawmakers crouched in terror behind their seats.
Eventually RTVE was ordered to switch off its cameras. By then, the national broadcaster had recorded half an hour of perhaps the most pivotal moment in Spain’s fledgling democracy.
Some of the footage would be broadcast the next day and repeatedly for years to come, burning indelibly into the memories of most Spaniards the image of Antonio Tejero’s attempted coup d’état.
Tejero and his men held lawmakers hostage for some 17 hours, interrupting parliament’s swearing-in of a new, democratically elected government.
Their aim: force a return to dictatorship, five years after head of state Francisco Franco’s death had ushered in Spain’s first free and fair elections in four decades.
The coup attempt was a defining moment in Spain’s transition to democracy, testing the solidity of a constitution that had only been drawn up three years earlier. At the time, it helped burnish the reputation of then-King Juan Carlos I as a champion of democracy after he quickly moved to quash the putsch by making a live broadcast supporting the government.
Tejero, who died on Wednesday aged 93, spent his life loyally supporting Franco’s regime then aspiring to the return of a far-right government once the self-styled generalissimo was gone.
His death in Alzira, Valencia, was announced by the law firm A. Cañizares Abogados on behalf of the Tejero family.
“His death occurred peacefully, surrounded by his entire family and after receiving the holy sacraments,” the law firm said.
A SWIFT RISE THROUGH THE RANKS
Antonio Tejero Molina was born in the southern province of Malaga to Antonio Tejero Camacho, a teacher, and Dolores Molina Labrada on April 30, 1932. Shortly before his birth, his father secured work at a military outpost, where the family would spend the early stages of the 1936-1939 civil war.
Growing up in a military environment imprinted on a young Tejero the fascist values of Franco’s regime: anti-communism, anti-liberalism, an opposition to the distribution of power among Spain’s regions, and “above all the awareness of the superiority of the military over the civilian sphere”, according to historian Roberto Muñoz Bolaños.
Aged 19, Tejero joined Spain’s military academy. He was assigned to the Civil Guard, a branch of the military responsible for civil policing, rising swiftly through the ranks thanks to the fervent ideology he shared with his superior officers.
OPERATION GALAXIA
After Franco’s death, Tejero went from model soldier to troublemaker as Francoists lost influence in the military. He blamed democracy for all of Spain’s ills.
He was frequently disciplined for disobeying orders and in 1977 was removed from his post as commander of a Civil Guard headquarters in Malaga. He had refused to allow an authorised demonstration to go ahead, insisting that the day should be one of mourning for a member of the Civil Guard who had died in Barcelona.
The rise of the now disbanded Basque separatist group ETA and what he saw as attempts to weaken the influence of the armed forces prompted him to hatch a plan with other officers in 1978 to occupy the Moncloa presidential palace – the prime minister’s official residence, in Madrid – and take the PM and his cabinet hostage.
But one of the conspirators revealed “Operation Galaxia” before it had gone ahead. Tejero was arrested and sentenced to prison for seven months and one day, the newspaper ABC reported at the time.
‘FORGED IN THE VALUES OF FRANCOISM’
Released from prison, Tejero immediately began plotting the 1981 putsch for which he would become famous.
Tejero, who needed men with whom to carry out the operation, secured the support of Lieutenant General Jaime Milans del Bosch, on the condition that they act in the name of the king.
When Juan Carlos refused to give his blessing, instead supporting the democratic government, the coup petered out.
Along with Milans del Bosch, Tejero was tried as one of the main conspirators and sentenced to 30 years.
Back in prison, he launched a far-right party, Solidaridad Española, but only secured 28,451 votes, which wasn’t enough to secure a seat in parliament.
Tejero’s career “reflects, more than that of any other military figure, the inability of a sector of the armed forces to adapt to the changes that had taken place in Spain since the 1960s and to understand that democracy implies consensus, dialogue and understanding of the ‘other’,” Muñoz Bolaños wrote in Aportes, an academic journal about contemporary Spanish history.
“This was impossible to understand for a military man forged in the values of Francoism.”
‘I DO NOT REGRET HAVING TRIED’
Tejero was released in 1996. He lived out the remainder of his days in relative obscurity, supplementing his pension by selling his paintings to followers, according to television channel La Sexta.
He made few public appearances but, when pressed, was unrepentant about his actions.
“It cost me my career and my freedom, but despite that I do not regret having tried,” Tejero said in an interview with Alvaro Romero Ferreiro for the book “Tejero: Man of Honour”, released in 2021.
One recent appearance was to witness Franco’s body being transferred to the Mingorrubio cemetery outside Madrid in 2019 after it was exhumed from the mausoleum the head of state had built for himself.
Tejero married a schoolteacher, Carmen Diez Pereira, with whom he had three daughters and three sons: Carmen, Dolores, Antonio, Elvira, Ramon and Juan. Ramon, a priest, presided over the mass before Franco was reburied.
Attending the funeral of Franco’s daughter in 2017, Tejero said that he still eulogised Franco because he gave Spain “40 years of happiness”.
The bullets shot by Tejero’s men on February 23, 1981 are still today lodged in the parliamentary chamber’s ceiling.
(Additional reporting by Emma Pinedo and Joan FausEditing by Olivier Holmey)
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