In the relatively peaceful world of European politics, governments rarely reach into the toolbox of physical coercion. After all, sending riot police to club citizens with truncheons in full view of TV cameras seldom wins over hearts and minds. Thus, when Catalan voters cast their ballots on October 1 in a controversial referendum on their region’s independence from Spain, observers were shocked by the forceful response of Spanish Prime Minister Mariano Rajoy. Rajoy’s government attempted to stop the vote under judicial order. In Barcelona, police in riot gear sought to block voters’ access to voting booths with batons, tear gas, and rubber bullets. This heavy-handed response has drawn widespread criticism, but it tells us less about repression than about the conflicting imperatives of politics and the law: Madrid’s response has been legally justified, though politically unwise.
The results of the referendum indicated that support for independence was a whopping 92 percent. However, the credibility of this sweeping majority was marred by low turnout, since many opponents of independence boycotted the vote. The ensuing weeks-long standoff culminated in a unilateral declaration of independence by the Catalan regional government. Desperate to keep Catalonia under control, Madrid has imposed direct rule over the autonomous community through a nuclear option in Spain’s constitution, marking the first time the clause has been triggered in the country’s democratic history. Madrid has since dissolved the Catalan government and called snap elections for the region in December. This move offers some short-term respite, but fails to tackle the issues at the heart of the crisis: Spain’s flawed constitutional design and the pitfalls of excessive regional autonomy.
Drafted in 1978 during Spain’s transition to democracy, the Spanish constitution is a compromise between federalists seeking a plurinational state with significant regional autonomy, and centralists striving to preserve the country’s unity. The result is a unitary but highly decentralized state in which significant powers of self-government are granted to autonomous communities such as Catalonia. At the same time, the constitution affirms the “indissoluble unity of the Spanish Nation.”
The upside of this arrangement is considerable regional self-government, with the exact powers laid out in statutes of autonomy differing from region to region. The Catalan statute is among the broadest, granting its regional government, the Generalitat, extensive control over education, taxation, health, culture, environment, and security—including its own police force. The arrangement differs from full-fledged federalism in that Madrid retains the authority to suspend these powers.
However, the principle of territorial inviolability, appropriate as it may have seemed in the context of paving the uncertain path towards democracy, now does little but invite escalation. It turns separatist aspirations—essentially political projects—into unlawful attacks against the country’s most fundamental legal principles. As a result, even symbolic gestures towards independence, such as a nonbinding independence referendum in 2014, have come under fire from the judiciary. Likewise, Carles Puigdemont and his cabinet, who organized this year’s vote, have been charged with rebellion, sedition, and misuse of public funds—crimes for which they could face up to 30 years in prison.
For the central government, the case is clear: Catalan leaders’ defiance of the supreme court subverts the democratic order and represents an attack on the rule of law. In the eyes of Madrid, therefore, any political negotiations with Puigdemont are out of the question. This is not unreasonable. Using the outcome of an illegal vote as leverage in negotiations, as Puigdemont tried to do following the October referendum, does not align with democratic principles.
Yet the issue with Madrid’s strategy is not that it is unjust. Rather, it’s that it is politically self-defeating in the long run. By creating political martyrs on the altar of separatism, the central government plays into the hand of Catalan separatists, who claim that intervention by the Spanish state is oppression masquerading as defense of the law. This narrative has become central to the case for separation. Catalan leaders have complained that “in the Spanish state, the law is not the same for everybody…We have been condemned for defending ideas that are not liked.” Research suggests that this strategy—casting Catalonia as the victim of unjust oppression—makes voters much more committed to the cause of independence.
If Madrid wants to put a lasting end to the conflicts in Catalonia, it must accept that an all-out legal war on separatism will likely prove counterproductive. In fact, reforming the constitution to provide a legal space for independence referenda could take much wind out of the separatists’ sails. Some polls suggest that, despite the lopsided referendum results, the majority of Catalans are opposed to independence. Support for independence peaked at 49 percent in 2013 before sinking back to 35 percent by July 2017, according to the Catalan government’s own Center for Opinion Studies. Madrid could well succeed in allowing a binding referendum and encouraging opponents of independence to vote against it, therein dealing a blow to the separatists without reinforcing a narrative of oppression.
However, the odds of such a strategy shift occurring are remote at best. The volatility of public opinion and the unpredictable dynamics of political campaigning make it incredibly risky for the central government to open up a legal path toward independence. Moreover, some observers have noted that the current escalation benefits Rajoy’s center-right People’s Party by exploiting disagreements over self-determination between Spain’s two main left-wing parties, the Socialist Party and Podemos. Rajoy seems to have settled on a strategy of attrition rather than reform, hoping to eventually sap the independence movement of its energy and have it collapse from within.
Others have argued that Madrid should resolve the crisis by granting Catalans greater autonomy—a promising but fraught strategy. Catalan leaders long focused their energies on securing greater regional autonomy rather than outright secession, and many argue that Rajoy’s steadfast refusal to make concessions fanned the flames of separatism. The centerpiece of this push was a revised statute of autonomy setting new terms for Catalan self-government. The deal, which passed all legislative hurdles by 2006, introduced broad changes spanning the areas of language, law, and taxation, among others. In 2010, however, a legal challenge by Rajoy’s People’s Party and several autonomous communities led the supreme court to strike down or amend several of the statute’s provisions. The court scaled back increases to the region’s judicial and fiscal autonomy, struck out sections that gave the Catalan language privileged status over Castilian Spanish in administration, and ruled that while the statute could refer to Catalonia as a “nation,” this description had no legal meaning. The court’s intervention sparked outrage and mass protests in Catalonia, prompting then-president Artur Mas to vow to push for an independence referendum.
To de-escalate tensions, Madrid could offer concessions on fiscal autonomy—long a sticking point in relations with the Catalans. As the country’s richest province in terms of economic output, Catalonia is a net contributor to the central state’s budget, usually paying around 12 billion dollars more in annual taxes than it gets back. This move would not be unprecedented: Catalan leaders have long dreamed of copying the Basque Country’s fiscal arrangement with Madrid. A wealthy, albeit smaller region with a turbulent history of violent separatism, the Basque Country enjoys near-complete fiscal autonomy and only pays an annual quota to Madrid to cover the costs of expenses like defense and infrastructure. But with an economy almost three times the size of the Basque Country’s, Catalonia is unlikely to obtain such a profitable deal, as this would cut off more than 10 percent of the central government’s budget.
Devolution in other areas is possible but risky, considering that Catalonia already has many of the trappings of an independent state. The regional government has significant powers to shape the region’s social and cultural landscape, often in ways that undermine its anchoring in Spanish society. Catalan schools, for example, tend to prioritize the Catalan language over Castilian Spanish, while history syllabi place emphasis on the historical subjugation of Catalonia by Spain. This may explain why support for independence tends to be highest among young voters who have gone through Catalan’s modern education system. Any further concessions to the Generalitat should be carefully weighed to avoid exacerbating this dynamic.
For now, the leadership in Madrid appears unwavering in its aggressive strategy. However, if Madrid is serious about finding a long-term solution, it must address the structural issues that have allowed the current crisis to spiral out of control. Chief among them is a constitutional framework that prevents separatists from putting independence to the test in legal, binding referendums, which allows them to blame their failures on Madrid and the courts. But even if Rajoy and his government rule out constitutional reform, they must recognize that effective governance demands more than punishing transgressions of the law. It requires the ability to signal to voters—including those in Catalonia—that their concerns are taken seriously. Accomplishing this may entail some concessions to Catalan leaders, but such compromises need to reinforce, rather than undermine, the coexistence that devolution is meant to enable.