No one expects the Spanish Inquisition
It seems like every week some former European empire desperate for relevance will jump on their decaying soapbox and excoriate Israel and Jews in general. Recently, it was Spain’s turn, and they emptied their arsenal in a visceral multi-front attack. It has the feeling of a disgruntled second cousin at a family gathering who has been holding back for decades, and suddenly the floodgates burst into a full-blown and fairly awkward tirade.
Pedro Sánchez, the Prime Minister of Spain, literally expressed regret at not having nuclear weapons to use against the Jews. How do you say cringe in Spanish? They are now legislating an arms embargo against a country to which they do not sell arms, although to be fair, they do purchase significant defense weaponry from Israel, so nose-cutting, face-spiting seems to be the objective.
Some of the highlights include cancelling the Vuelta bicycle race because of Israeli participation, forcing Israel to withdraw from their chess competition, threatening to boycott the World Cup and threatening to boycott the Eurovision contest if Israel is participating. Nothing screams irrelevance like boycotting Eurovision.
To give some context to this piñata of a Prime Minister, he first announced his intention to recognize a Palestinian state in November 2023, just a few short weeks after October 7, so the guy is obviously all class.
Now, to most people, this narcissistic and prepubescent behavior may seem “loco,” but in fact, antisemitism is one of Spain’s oldest and noblest traditions. The Inquisition, which only officially ended in 1834, is just the tip of the Iberian iceberg. It was not until 1968 that Spain formally repealed the Alhambra decree that made Judaism illegal. Parts of Spain still celebrate “Matar Judios” Day, which translates to kill the Jew day. You can’t make this stuff up.
Their claims to the mantle of liberal democracy are laughable when you consider they only became a democracy in 1978, a full 30 years after Israel.
There is an irony in Spain moving “despacito” and being the last Western European country to become a democracy, as Spain played a critical role in the Nazi war effort, where despite their “neutrality,” they sent the “Division Azul” to help Hitler on the Eastern Front, so clearly they know a thing or two about genocides.
Historically, Spain caused the death of some 30 million native South Americans, decimating their population by an estimated 90%. Latin America’s most dysfunctional regimes today are the bastard children of Spanish colonialism. In Africa, the continent is still reeling from Spanish influence in Equatorial New Guinea and Western Sahara.
Closer to home and current times, ask the Basques and the Catalans how their overlords feel about a two-state solution. As recent as 2017, the Spanish sent in armed troops to Catalonia to forcefully block an independence vote. What is good for the goose is clearly a problem for the gander.
Which brings us to the obvious question: why would a country with such a miserable track record and zero global influence feel the need to expend their limited geopolitical capital in such an unseemly and petulant fashion?
I have a surefire system of establishing perspective in the realm of geopolitics that is infallible. The algorithm is remarkably simple, and its application has been backtested reliably. In order to understand why a country does what it does, you need to view its actions through the prism of its national pastimes.
For example, Russia is a chess-playing country and is always thinking three moves ahead, sacrificing a Syrian pawn for a Crimean knight. America is about poker and going all in with the occasional bluff. England operates on a football hooligan basis with tribal populism, and France is all about the style over substance. Germany loves their engineering, so they are all about precision with the occasional mechanized destruction of Europe, and so on and so forth.
Spain is the real kicker in the group because their national pastime is bullfighting and siestas. While I am not an avid sports enthusiast, I do like to experience and analyze firsthand the nuances of various sports. For this reason, a couple of years ago, I found myself ringside at Las Ventas in Madrid to experience an authentic bullfight. The pageantry, pomp, and ceremony of a bullfight are incomparable to any other sporting event you can possibly imagine. In the presence of royalty and high-level government officials, you can almost get a sense of the Spanish enthusiasm for an auto-da-fe.
This is not a sport by any stretch of the imagination. There is no battle of equals, or display of skill. This is ritualized slaughter and a contest that is rigged from the start. The bull is handicapped, bled, and within an inch of its life before the matador even enters the ring. The performance is noble in appearance only, and the outcome is never in doubt.
Spain despises a fair fight. It thrives only when the match is fixed, when it can role-play the hero against a villain already chosen. Its recognition of Palestine and condemnation of Israel are not acts of diplomacy. They resent the strength of the bull and will do everything they can to ensure its demise. They are a corrida, a bloody spectacle staged for applause, with the victim preselected. Their strategy is to once again sacrifice the Jews to please the baying mobs.
There is another great national pastime, of course, the siesta. When Spain is not performing, it is sleeping. Economic crises, separatist tensions, European debt, and every other global drama other than Israel, they prefer to nap rather than to act. Between the bullring and the siesta, Spain oscillates between theatrical cruelty and studied avoidance.
Spain recognizes a Palestinian state that does not exist, condemns Israel for defending itself against terror, and embargoes the Jewish state in the name of human rights. This from a country that denied Jews legal recognition until the Beatles were releasing albums, and flirted with fascism long after Europe had paid its bill, while steadfastly refusing to recognize its own minorities’ desperate cries for statehood and independence.
“Olé,” cries the crowd, as the matador thrusts the sword, but this is not courage, it is performance. Spain may imagine itself the matador of moral politics, but in truth, it is an aging flamenco dancer, repeating a tired routine in the global arena, long after its empire has ceased to exist.
