…but I Did Not Shoot the Deputy
It was a long weekend where the Spanish who care about such things celebrate the Spanish Constitution. Spain is one of the most interesting countries in Europe when it comes to politics. It boasts a new democracy risen from a bloodless transition from fascist dictatorship engineered by a monarch who the leader of the Communist party admitted was the most radical agent of change at the time. The Spanish Congreso de Deputados – House of Commons if you will – is just up the road from the statue of Neptune and a stone’s throw from Madrid’s central Puerto del Sol. I went there on Monday.
I queued for four hours in the cold and the rain to get a look at the building where on 23th February1981 Antonio Tejero Molina tried to stage a military coup. You can see the bullet holes where he shot into the ornate ceiling. What a prat!
When we arrived at the entrance after joining the queue at Calle Alcalá and going all the way down to the Paseo del Prado and then up and around Calle Zorilla, they photocopied my passport and gave me a plastic cup (one of the cosy foamy ones) of soup. There were no guides. Just blue arrows with the word ‘Route’ on them. It was all very lush carpet and oil painty throughout. There was a fancy table given as a gift by some very important dead person to another very important dead person and a room with clocks. There was a modern looking tribute to the men who drew up the Constitution 40 years ago. The contrast between the modern paintings of these guys with the oil painted portraits of Pre-Franco times highlighted how young modern Spain is.
The debating chamber is beautiful to look at but uncomfortable to sit in. Little wonder they are so grumpy most of the time. Every diputado has an electrical voting system and a computer monitor. Although they look a bit Windows 3.1, they’re more on the ball than the Brits who have to shuffle out and in again to vote.
The debating chamber is a lot smaller than it looks on the 9 o’clock news and I can imagine the atmosphere gets a bit tense at times. In the English House of Commons MPs are separated by a space the distance of two sword lengths. Here they inhabit a classical semi-circle.
I was given a rucksack, gloves, scarf and a woolly hat when I left. I imagine that is so I can be identified as a solid citizen who has done the democractic Haj to the Congreso. I was also given a copy of the Spanish Constitution. I shall read it too.
