Two to tangle: church and state clash heads in Spain.

"IN SPAIN, THE PEOPLE ALWAYS FOLlOW the priests; sometimes holding candles, sometimes clubs." It took a home-grown existentialist like Miguel de Unamuno to underscore the peculiar nature of the church-state conflict in Spain that came to a boil soon after Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero became prime minister in March 2004. On the surface, the dispute is driven by sharp differences over money, privilege and hot-button social issues like abortion. But as Unamuno also cautioned, in Spain, everything has to be contextualized in terms of the past, and that is where you find the roots of the Socialist government's irritation over the church's tenacious toehold in Spanish society, which Zapatero believes is definitely not the appropriate venue for the expression of "personal" religious beliefs, or for any institution not legitimized by voters to challenge his agenda for social change.

In what senses can Spain be considered a Catholic country? Probably not as many as one might imagine. The misapprehension that Spain is a Catholic country is lit by the afterglow of the Black Legend, the campaign propagated by z6th century Protestant countries eager to depict their geopolitical rival as a hotbed of religious fanaticism. Nowadays, many historians view the expulsion of the Jews and Moors during the Spanish Inquisition not so much as persecution undertaken for its own sake, but rather as a bid to cement political unity and social uniformity. This is especially the case as Spain had just been cobbled together out of reconqeuered territory and truculent, culturally impermeable kingdoms whose modern-day successors are still threatening to go their own separate ways from the rest of Spain.

For the record, the latest (May 2005) survey by the government's own polling agency shows 80 percent of Spaniards identify themselves as Catholics. Maybe not what the pope would consider outstanding Catholics: just over 17 percent make it to church on Sundays, while 42 percent rarely or never attend mass except for baptisms, weddings, first communions and funerals. For a large majority, the religious character of personal rites of passage and public occasions where a collective identity is affirmed (Easter processions, folklore and fiestas) is beyond question. In short, Spain is much like other countries in Europe's Mediterranean Catholic Belt.

Though there is no doubt that the church hierarchy was one of Franco's mainstays during and after the Spanish Civil War (1936-39), the last dozen years of Francisco Franco's life were soured by the Second Vatican Council. Much of the flexibility and goodwill that made the transition to democracy a success came from the church, particularly from the archbishop of Madrid, Cardinal Vicente Enrique y Tarancon. Eager to decouple from a decadent regime and discredited ideology, the Spanish bishops' conference had publicly called for an end to the church's privileged status as the state-approved religion two years before Franco's death in 1975.

The terms of the separation were hashed out in a concordat with the Vatican in which the state pledged to continue subsidizing the disestablished church as a "temporary" measure. Aconfessionalism, as opposed to secularism, was enshrined in the 1978 Constitution, but another article stated that "public authorities shall take the religious beliefs of Spanish society into account and shall maintain the consequent relations of co-operation with the Catholic church and other confessions." For years, debate mostly centered on how much cash that cooperation works out to, but since Zapatero came to power, its terms have shifted to question whether such a provision has any business appearing in the charter of a country committed to building a united Europe on foundations of secular, social-democratic orthodoxy.

Zapatero's administration marks the second time the Socialists have wielded power in a democratic Spain. Under the 1982-96 governments of Felipe Gonzalez, however, nobody was eager to pick fights while the country was pursuing stability, institution-building and economic growth. Accordingly, the church hierarchy found it could accept the introduction of civil divorce in 1981 somewhat easier for knowing that broken marriages had brought misery to thousands of women and children. A law allowing abortion under narrow circumstances was passed in 1986 and caused considerable fuss, but possibly less than it might have.

Gonzalez drew heavily for support from his native Andalucia, Spain's agrarian south where both the church and the Socialist Party are institutionally anchored. And although Article 27 of the Constitution committed the government to supporting church-affiliated schools, the Catholic schools were only doing a job that until recently--if even now--the state did not have the resources to do itself: namely, educate all of Spain's children. At the present time, one pupil in three is receiving a Catholic education in Spain, either at full-fee schools or partially subsidized ones where the curriculum has been adapted to meet government norms.

During the eight years that the center-right was running the country, church-state relations were predictably smooth. However, towards the end of the 1996-2004 administration of Jose Maria Aznar, the Catholic establishment lined up behind Pope John Paul II's disapproval of the Iraq war, after Aznar sided with George W. Bush and UK prime minister Tony Blair. When the Socialists won the elections held four days after the Madrid terror train attacks, the first thing Zapatero did made the bishops happy: he withdrew Spain's token contingent of troops from Iraq. The second thing he did was not so pleasing to the bishops: he announced that same-sex couples would be allowed to marry, enjoy full spousal fights under the law and adopt children--rights that so far have been recognized as such only in the Netherlands, seven of 10 provinces and one of three territories in Canada, Massachusetts and Belgium (without adoption).

And that was just for starters. Within weeks, Zapatero's legislators were drafting a new one-step divorce law and making a major production out of the announcement that his government would authorize stem cell research. (His conviction that anything George W. Bush is against has to be a good thing is patent, as is the fact that Spain's commitment to science and research is a long-standing joke; its failure to retain or support the first-class researchers it has produced remains a national scandal.)

Parallel with the legislative onslaught, the civility index plunged sharply, with Socialist Party chief Jose Blanco dismissing the church as "mangy-minded" while Defense Minister Jose Bono, the closest thing to a Catholic in a cabinet put together according to strict gender-parity rules (eight men and eight women) made a crack about reconvening the Council of Trent and slammed the Vatican as "obscene" in its attitude towards condoms and homosexuality.

As the discussion heated up, the all-powerful media empire that metastasized around the daily El Pais reached for the trowel laying on the sarcasm and old-time blasphemy in opinion pieces and "artistic" videos ridiculing clergymen as fuddy-duddies and outing pederasts and hypocrites. Note that this was the same outfit that saw nothing wrong with planting a microphone into the confessional of a Madrid church and broadcasting what was overheard over their radio affiliate, claiming all was fine and dandy because of its "sociological interest" and the persons whose right to privacy they violated were not identified.

However, it was the Socialists' turn to grow livid when paid back in their own coin by conservative commentators who have long been featured on the coPE radio network, which is owned and operated by the bishops' conference. Though far more reasoned than American shock jocks and closer to public television's Jim Lehrer in technique, if not ideology, COPE so annoyed the government that in a gesture of unprecedented pettiness, its reporters were banned from the plane accompanying Foreign Minister Miguel Angel Moratinos to the Middle East.

Going by the papers, all Spain was suddenly seized by a frenzy of secularism and apostasy. A deputy from one of the Catalonian fringe parties called for the cathedral at Girona (the northeastern city formerly known as Gerona) to be expropriated and turned into a cultural center where non-believers could meditate on "the perfection of its forms and volumes; a rational, mathematical concept far removed from the irrationality of faith." Of course, certain hours of the day would be set aside so that "believers in the Catholic religion can go on celebrating their rituals there."

Catalonia was also where the Socialists passed a motion urging prosecutors to open a probe into the church for allegedly promoting discrimination and inciting hate crimes against gays. Meanwhile, a school principal in Castejon (Navarra) saw fit to abolish Christmas by decree: banning display of the creche, prohibiting carol singing and teaching a thing or two to anyone who might have had the impression that "South Park" is a satire on America.

Just when it seemed things couldn't get any worse--they got worse. In January 2005, Pope John Paul II read the riot act to Zapatero, charging that government-orchestrated secularism "in a more or less conscious form, is bringing about the restriction of religious freedom by promoting scorn or ignorance of religious matters. It relegates faith to the private sphere and opposes its public expression."

Spain, the pope went on, has deep Christian roots. "These roots are living, and cannot be kept out of sight, but must continue nourishing the harmonious growth of society." Secularism, he charged, was denying younger Spaniards the chance to understand their Christian heritage even as they are being constantly "exposed to the temptations of moral permissiveness."

This was heavy going, and Zapatero designated Catholic fellow-traveler Jose Bono to formulate the government's rebuttal. "I personally consider the pope a moral reference," he said, "though in this instance I am radically opposed to what he is saying simply because faith is not something that can be imposed by the government. It is not state property, it belongs to the individual.... It is not the state's business to preach Christianity.... Perhaps the church hierarchy would do well to consider whether they themselves might bear part of the blame if the Christian faith has become somewhat remote to people.... Maybe a bit of self-criticism is called for ... and they should ease off on the permanent subject of sex."

"People will get in bed with whomever they please," Jose Bono observed. "If he were here, Christ would be more concerned over the 25,000 children who are starving or killed in wars every single day. I'm convinced Christ would be on the side of the peacemakers."

With that exchange of heavy-caliber nose thumbing, rock bottom had at last been hit and it was time to look for an out. Two things happened at the bishop's conference. The prelates (albeit briefly) seemed to change course on the condom issue, acknowledging that "they have their place in the integral and global prevention of aiDS." And, about the same time, the bishops replaced their chairman, Msgr. Antonio Maria Rouco Varela, the Madrid archbishop regarded by Zapatero as confrontational and conservative, with the bishop of Bilbao, Ricardo Blazquez, who had made an unexpectedly good impression on the Catholic subset of the pro-independence movement in northern Spain's troubled Basque country. Blazquez, with his Basque and Catalonian colleagues, had been widely seen as punching well above their weight in the conference.

"I am in favor of the change for obvious reasons," crowed Zapatero. How much arm-twisting did it take to achieve it? The question became relevant a few months later, when it became clear the Madrid government was eager to open peace talks with the Basque terror group ETA, which has killed more than 800 people since 1967. That the church has a key role to play in any Northern Irish-style negotiations is taken for granted--in 1998, Bishop Juan Maria Uriarte of San Sebastian mediated secret contacts between the former government and ETA and now the conference's deputy chairman, Msgr. Antonio Canizares, has voiced support for the initiative which the opposition Popular Party considers a jackpot payout for the terrorists and a betrayal of their victims.

The other climatic change factor was the papal transition. After first refusing to make a public comment on John Paul II's death, Zapatero broke out in profuse appreciation of the late pontiff's "unshakable commitment to the quest for peace on Earth and solidarity among mankind" and made sure he got invited to the funeral.

The truce held for a while under the new papacy, with Zapatero insisting that Benedict could count on his "full attention, interest and respect" if and when the pontiff should express an opinion on a subject such as the gay marriage bill that was finally signed into law in April.

BREAKING THE TRUCE

"Zapatero has gone out of his way to deliver the church a slap in the face," thundered the archbishop of Genoa, Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone, Ratzinger's former number two on the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, who compared the Spanish leader's carrying out his campaign pledges with Herod's promises to Salome, and avowed he would come to regret it just as much.

In a letter read out in Spanish churches, the new pope eschewed a frontal attack but insisted, "No community, in order to give a truly human face to its society, can ignore the precious asset of the family, which is founded on marriage. Lifelong marriage between a man and a woman is the basis of the family, part of the heritage of mankind and a common good. Therefore, the church has no choice but to repeat that, in accordance with God's will, marriage and the family are non-negotiable. There are no alternatives."

As far as Spain's own bishops were concerned, a line had been crossed. "We consider this law to be promoting a legal counterfeit of marriage, one that is as harmful to the common good as counterfeit money is to a country's economy. We reflect painfully on the damage it will do to children handed over in adoption to falsely-married couples and to young people not allowed to receive an education that helps prepare them for true marriage."

This time, along with the reprobation came an upping of the ante with the bishops calling on Catholics employed in the municipal administrations where civil marriages are performed to refuse to officiate at ceremonies for same-sex couples, asserting their right to freedom of conscience. Retorted Deputy Prime Minister Maria Teresa Fernandez de la Vega: respect is fine, dialogue is better, but refusing to carry out a law of the land is tantamount to breaking it, and anyone contemplating doing so had better take notice.

This latest twist ends on a note of ambiguity. At the end of May, Justice Minister Juan Fernando Lopez Aguilar said in an interview that the system of financing under the soon-to-expire Vatican concordat is "unsustainable" and would have to be renegotiated from scratch. The reason he gave was that it clashed with European Union directives by exempting the church from Value Added Tax and the government was likewise foregoing other revenues it would be receiving in virtually any other country. The minister also said it was time to overhaul the system under which tax-payers can elect to have a fraction of their tax payments earmarked either for the church or a pool of NGOs. Since 1989, the minister insisted, the donation covers barely 70 percent of the subsidy to the Catholic church and the government is tired of adding to it.

Finally, the minister said that though the Socialists had no plans to renege on their undertaking that all children attending public schools should have the right to attend classes in religion at their parents' discretion, the system under which the government pays the salaries of teachers while the church decides who is qualified to teach the classes would have to end. The government also wants grades in religion to be excluded when it comes to determining students' over-all academic performance.

"We ought to be able to bring up these issues without being accused of looking for confrontation. The fact is that this situation amounts to special treatment for the Catholic church, treatment not available to other confessions that, under the Constitution, are entitled to equal treatment," Lopez Aguilar said.

What happened next, though, is interesting. A day later, the minister "categorically denied" he had ever said that financing cannot be sustained. Was he, as many suspect, slapped down by Zapatero for playing a card that was supposed to be reserved for later in the game? Was the government anxious not to alienate Blazquez to keep him on board for the great gamble on peace in the Basque country?

One thing is for sure, though: in Spain's third-largest city, Seville, living proof of Unamuno's Law was on display on the May 26 feast of Corpus Christi as every single Socialist politician in town turned out in their best Sunday suits to march behind the processional monstrance containing the Eucharist. A spokesman for Seville's conservatives, Jaime Raynaud, agreed that "this is a very important, a gala day for us." For the Socialists, too, no? "Yes, it does seem odd they should show up for religious events and then go home to defend moral issues that are contrary to the church's teaching." But then, isn't that what being Catholic is all about?

ROBERT LATONA is a freelance journalist living in Spain.