Flags of Saint Andrew, bicephalous eagles, Second Spanish Republic-era flags, and new symbols, like the double ‘N’ standing for ‘National November’ with a cross in the middle—we’ve seen all sorts of flags out in the anti-amnesty protests in Spain, but the vast majority were either blank or sported the constitutional coat of arms.
Then there have been a few with a hole in them from where the coat of arms was cut out, like during Eastern European marches against the USSR when protesters would remove the party emblem from their nation’s colours.
In the Spanish case, the idea is that existing institutions—the prevailing order—eminently represented by the coat of arms of our constitutional monarchy, are not operant, that they have not been able to reproduce themselves, to stop themselves from being usurped and transformed into something else, and that this transformation (possibly leading to territorial partition) is ongoing.
In reminding us that the system we explicitly, legally, have is not the system we actually have, cutting its symbol out is a sign of mourning; in reminding us that the framers and representatives of this system were not competent, strong, or willing enough to prevent what’s happened, it is a sign of repulsion; and in reminding us that the nation itself is being hollowed out, that we are in the throes of this process, it is a call to fill it with something. Either the same sign as before, but awake and vigilant, or a different one.
Indeed, if one were to ask those who have attended these protests and their sympathisers, the vast majority would probably agree that Spain needs constitutional reform.
As for the holder of the office whose sign some of the nation’s loyalists are now cutting off their flags: It does not seem as though the king was happy to oversee Sánchez’ investiture. Indeed, the socialist party leader’s swearing to uphold a constitution he has just finished violating in order to become prime minister could not elicit a reaction other than gravity (or mirth) from the head of state.
But the royal did his job, even as the legal and theoretical basis for that job is in question. Contrary to certain conservative instincts, there’s no dignity in that (unless one is biding one’s time for a strategically opportune moment to speak clearly—but what future moment will be more symbolic, more impactful, than swearing on the constitution?).
On the role of monarchs in times of crisis, I’ve written that
When a traditional institution like monarchy oversees a period of thorough social transformation without protestation, like the one we have been living through, it may be the case that it is not merely standing idle. It may be, even in spite of the person wearing the crown, that the institution has come to function as just another part of the establishment whose social engineering we decry.
We can end up with an institution that “means one thing de jure to those who understand its symbols, while de facto serving different ends.”
The long-term survival of any traditional institution requires that, during historically critical moments, someone at or near its helm express the actual principles enshrined in that institution in terms that straightforwardly contrast with the principles that contradict it. … It is during these moments that an institution’s relevance, its moral leadership, its generational covenant with the nation it serves may be renewed. They will either repeat their founding moment, refresh their reason for being, or they will cease. In the latter case, even if they appear to endure, we will only be witnessing a shadowy afterimage, a living parody.
The future of Spain depends on people, and the king will be largely responsible for whether the monarchy continues to be a practical unifying framework for Spanish patriots or not. If he doesn’t rock the boat, however furrowed his brow, it is very likely that patriotism and the widespread desire for constitutional reform in Spain will grow ambiguous or even hostile to the current shape of the state, including the monarchy.
The question, as ever, is not only what will fill the hole in the flag but whether worthy sons of their nation will make that symbol worthy of the flag.
The Hole in the Flag
Photo by OSCAR DEL POZO / AFP
Flags of Saint Andrew, bicephalous eagles, Second Spanish Republic-era flags, and new symbols, like the double ‘N’ standing for ‘National November’ with a cross in the middle—we’ve seen all sorts of flags out in the anti-amnesty protests in Spain, but the vast majority were either blank or sported the constitutional coat of arms.
Then there have been a few with a hole in them from where the coat of arms was cut out, like during Eastern European marches against the USSR when protesters would remove the party emblem from their nation’s colours.
In the Spanish case, the idea is that existing institutions—the prevailing order—eminently represented by the coat of arms of our constitutional monarchy, are not operant, that they have not been able to reproduce themselves, to stop themselves from being usurped and transformed into something else, and that this transformation (possibly leading to territorial partition) is ongoing.
In reminding us that the system we explicitly, legally, have is not the system we actually have, cutting its symbol out is a sign of mourning; in reminding us that the framers and representatives of this system were not competent, strong, or willing enough to prevent what’s happened, it is a sign of repulsion; and in reminding us that the nation itself is being hollowed out, that we are in the throes of this process, it is a call to fill it with something. Either the same sign as before, but awake and vigilant, or a different one.
Indeed, if one were to ask those who have attended these protests and their sympathisers, the vast majority would probably agree that Spain needs constitutional reform.
As for the holder of the office whose sign some of the nation’s loyalists are now cutting off their flags: It does not seem as though the king was happy to oversee Sánchez’ investiture. Indeed, the socialist party leader’s swearing to uphold a constitution he has just finished violating in order to become prime minister could not elicit a reaction other than gravity (or mirth) from the head of state.
But the royal did his job, even as the legal and theoretical basis for that job is in question. Contrary to certain conservative instincts, there’s no dignity in that (unless one is biding one’s time for a strategically opportune moment to speak clearly—but what future moment will be more symbolic, more impactful, than swearing on the constitution?).
On the role of monarchs in times of crisis, I’ve written that
We can end up with an institution that “means one thing de jure to those who understand its symbols, while de facto serving different ends.”
The future of Spain depends on people, and the king will be largely responsible for whether the monarchy continues to be a practical unifying framework for Spanish patriots or not. If he doesn’t rock the boat, however furrowed his brow, it is very likely that patriotism and the widespread desire for constitutional reform in Spain will grow ambiguous or even hostile to the current shape of the state, including the monarchy.
The question, as ever, is not only what will fill the hole in the flag but whether worthy sons of their nation will make that symbol worthy of the flag.
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