[1931 - 1936] Second Spanish Republic

The year is 1931. On the 14th of April, a strange quiet falls over the Royal Palace in Madrid, only to be broken by the roar of a crowd. King Alfonso XIII, the latest in a long line of Bourbon monarchs, is packing his bags. He hasn't formally abdicated, but he is fleeing, leaving a vacuum of power in a nation simmering with discontent. As his car speeds away, a new flag begins to appear on balconies and in the hands of the jubilant masses: three horizontal stripes of red, yellow, and a deep, hopeful purple. The Second Spanish Republic was born not in a bloody revolution, but in a municipal election whose results were so overwhelmingly anti-monarchist that the King simply saw no other choice but to leave. Spain, at that moment, was a land of staggering contrasts. In cities like Madrid and Barcelona, new rationalist architecture with clean lines and glass facades reached for the sky, while radios crackled in cafes with news from around the world. But journey just a few dozen kilometres into the countryside, particularly in the south, and you would step back centuries. Here, a tiny elite of unimaginably wealthy *latifundistas*, or large landowners, controlled vast estates. Some 50,000 proprietors owned over half of all the taxable land in the country. Working this land were millions of *braceros*, landless day laborers whose existence was a near-feudal struggle for survival, their lives dictated by the rising sun and the whim of a foreman. The Catholic Church, deeply entwined with the aristocracy, was not just a spiritual guide but a political power, a major landowner, and the sole controller of education. For a third of the population, who remained illiterate, the local priest was their primary source of information. Into this deeply divided world stepped the Republic’s new leaders, a coalition of middle-class intellectuals and socialists. Their driving force was Manuel Azaña, a brilliant but aloof intellectual who served as Prime Minister. His vision was clear and radical: to drag Spain, kicking and screaming if necessary, into the 20th century. "Spain," he declared, "has ceased to be Catholic." This was more than a statement; it was a declaration of war on the old order. The first two years, the *Bienio Reformista*, were a whirlwind of change. The government launched a massive educational crusade, aiming to build a school in every village. In just two years, they constructed nearly 7,000 new schools to create what Azaña called "a republic of citizens, not subjects." They tackled the ancient land problem with an Agrarian Reform Law, designed to expropriate the vast, uncultivated estates and redistribute them to the peasant masses. Perhaps most astonishingly, they gave women the right to vote. This was a titanic struggle, championed by the fiery lawyer Clara Campoamor. The debate was fierce, even on the left. Some socialists argued that women, being more devoutly Catholic and influenced by their priests, would inevitably vote for the conservative parties. Campoamor’s rebuttal was thunderous and shaming: “You have the right that you believe you are entitled to, but not the right to grant it to men and deny it to women!” She won, and in 1933, Spanish women voted for the first time. The sight of women with modern, bobbed haircuts—the *pelonas*—casting their ballots was a potent symbol of a new era. But for every action, there is a reaction. Every reform created a powerful enemy. The landowners, the Church, the army’s officer corps, and the industrialists saw the Republic as a threat to their very existence. The pace of reform was too slow for the radical left, especially the anarchists who dreamed of a stateless society, and too fast for the terrified right. By 1933, the initial euphoria had curdled into suspicion and resentment. The elections of that year brought a conservative coalition, the CEDA, to power. For the next two years, known as the *Bienio Negro* or "Black Biennium" by the left, the government set about systematically dismantling the Republic’s reforms. Land was returned to the aristocrats, the Church’s privileges were restored, and the education program was halted. The tension finally snapped in October 1934. In the northern region of Asturias, the miners, a tight-knit and fiercely proud community, launched a full-scale revolution. They declared a socialist republic, shouting the slogan "UHP!"—*Uníos, Hermanos Proletarios!* (Unite, Proletarian Brothers!). For two weeks, they held out against the government. The response was merciless. The Republic sent its most ruthless troops, the Spanish Legion and Moroccan Regulares, commanded by a quiet, calculating general named Francisco Franco. The rebellion was crushed with unimaginable brutality. An estimated 2,000 people were killed, and tens of thousands were imprisoned. A river of blood now ran between the Spanish left and right. There was no longer a middle ground; you were on one side or the other. A last, desperate hope came in February 1936. A coalition of all left-wing parties, from moderate republicans to communists, formed the Popular Front and narrowly won the election. They immediately freed the prisoners from the Asturias uprising and restarted the reform agenda. But it was too late. The fabric of society was tearing apart. Political violence became a feature of daily life. Anarchists and fascists shot each other in the streets. Churches were burned, and strikes paralyzed the country. The air itself felt thick with paranoia and the scent of gunpowder. The final spark came in July. On the 12th, José Castillo, a well-known socialist Assault Guard officer, was gunned down by right-wing extremists. In retaliation, his comrades, seeking a high-profile target, drove to the home of José Calvo Sotelo, the most charismatic and outspoken monarchist leader in parliament. They kidnapped him from his home and shot him, dumping his body in a cemetery. For the cabal of generals who had been plotting a coup for months, this was the perfect pretext. On July 17th, 1936, from the Canary Islands, General Franco broadcast a manifesto declaring a rebellion to "save" Spain from chaos. Garrisons rose up in Spanish Morocco, then on the mainland. The five-year experiment in democracy, hope, and bitter division was over. The Spanish Civil War had begun.