Elections don’t only change governments; at times, they redefine the country itself. Or, to be precise, they redraw the rules of the competition for power. Consider the transformations wrought by the Great Recession of 2008. Nearly twenty years after the financial collapse that shook Europe, the economic fallout is largely behind us. Austerity policies have softened, employment has recovered, and the pandemic prompted a reevaluation of some foundational principles that guided Europe’s response to the financial crisis. Yet the political consequences of that crisis remain entirely in force.
The general elections in 2027 will once again illustrate this condition. Public debate will center on the long-standing alternation between the PP and PSOE, but it will also be instructive to examine the political system born from the crisis: parliamentary fragmentation, ongoing negotiations, a weakened two-party framework, and a growing difficulty in forming and maintaining stable majorities.
For several years, upstart parties like Podemos and Ciudadanos were viewed as temporary reactions to the 2008 crisis. With the passage of time, that interpretation proved incomplete. Political science has long warned that the effects of major economic crises can outlast the recovery period. In Ruling the Void, author Peter Mair explained how the crisis accelerated a breakdown of political representation, widening the gulf between parties and citizens. Professor Hanspeter Kriesi of the European University Institute has argued that globalization and the financial crisis consolidated a new axis of political competition that reorganized Europe’s party systems. In Anti-System Politics: The Crisis of Market Liberalism in Rich Democracies, professor Jonathan Hopkin of the London School of Economics contended that the Great Recession ushered in an era of ‘anti-system’ politics, the consequences of which continue to shape electoral contests across the continent.
“The mandates of Pedro Sánchez can only be understood from that context”
Albeit with its own distinctive features, Spain has clearly followed that European trend. The mandates of Pedro Sánchez can only be understood from that context – not because he produced the fragmentation, but because he was the first Prime Minister to fully adapt to it. In many respects, he was the first Spanish leader to grasp the new political landscape. No other government since the restoration of democracy has managed to govern so long through simultaneous agreements with leftist, nationalist, and pro-independence factions and partners, each with very different priorities. Sánchez’s principal political contribution has extended beyond his legislative program: he has demonstrated that Spain can govern itself in a multi-party system, where negotiation is no longer an exception but the most common method of wielding power.
In this sense, the PSOE’s trajectory has diverged from that of other European social-democratic parties. Some historical forces, such as Greece’s PASOK or France’s Socialist Party, were pushed to the margins or replaced by newcomers, while Spain’s socialists have managed to keep progressive politics at the forefront. They have not clung to the old two-party framework; instead they have managed to build an axis around which a parliamentary majority can be formed.
Something similar is unfolding at the opposite end of the spectrum. The Partido Popular remains the essential center-right party in Spain, but it has never recovered the absolute majorities enjoyed by José María Aznar and Mariano Rajoy. The emergence of Vox has structurally altered the conservative space, bringing to Spain a debate echoed across much of Europe: What is the optimal relationship between traditional center-right parties and the radical right?
“The color of the Executive will change, but changing the rules of the game will be much more difficult”
That will likely rank among the dominant questions of the 2027 elections. If Alberto Núñez Feijóo reaches the presidency, he will inherit the same political system bequeathed to Pedro Sánchez in 2018. The hue of the Executive may shift, but reengineering the rules will prove far more challenging. The challenge of building a sufficient governing majority will be compounded by the role Vox decides to take on. Will that party opt to enter the government? Will it aid investiture while staying outside the Council of Ministers? Will it preserve parliamentary autonomy to safeguard its own political profile?
Again, this dilemma is not unique to Spain. In fact, it stands as a central political question across Europe.
Italy has normalized the presence of the radical right at the helm of government. In France, a second-round contest between radical left and radical right could hand victory to Le Pen. In the Netherlands, coalitions have long revolved around this very issue. In Germany, where the CDU nominally acts as a bulwark against ‘Alternative for Germany’, the surge of the far right has forced the main conservative party to continually redefine its strategy.
Spain sits within that same debate. For too long we have interpreted Spanish politics as an anomaly marked by ‘el procés’, the motion of censure, electoral repetition – the political consequences of the Great Recession. Yet contemporary Spain resembles other European democracies far more than it did fifteen years ago. Fragmentation in Congress is no longer exceptional but the norm. Absolute majorities are growing rarer. Governing means negotiating on a permanent basis. Medium and small parties can seize veto power, and stability depends less on the strength of the winning party than on its ability to broker agreements.
“Stability depends less on the winning party’s strength than on its ability to forge agreements”
Thus it may be timely today to reinterpret the mandates of Pedro Sánchez from a broader lens. More than a stroke of luck or a string of tactical moves, they reflect Spain’s adaptation to a deeper transformation being experienced by Europe’s democracies. Sánchez didn’t invent coalition politics, but he has been the first Spanish president to govern effectively within it.
Consequently, Feijóo – if he makes it to Moncloa – will likely have to operate in exactly the same manner. He won’t be able to govern like Aznar, and emulating Rajoy will not be simple. He will need to work within a fragmented parliament, continually negotiating for support amid the dilemma now confronting nearly all of Europe’s conservative parties: How does one relate to a radical right that is no longer a temporary phenomenon but a structural actor in the political system?
Perhaps that is the real question the 2027 elections will raise: not merely who will occupy Moncloa, but which candidate is best prepared to keep managing the political cycle sparked by the Great Recession.
Major economic crises rarely conclude with renewed employment and growth. Rather, their effects linger for years in a country’s institutions and parties, and in the expectations of its citizens. The Transition created a political system that dominated Spain for more than three decades. The Great Recession severely altered that balance, ushering in a markedly different era.
“The 2027 elections will decide who governs Spain for the next few years, but they’ll also reveal whether the long shadow cast by 2008 still covers our democracy or whether – nearly two decades later – a new political cycle has finally begun”
The political generation led by Felipe González helped govern a country born in 1978. Mariano Rajoy sought to manage the fatigue of that model. Pedro Sánchez has been steering the Spain that emerged from the financial crisis. If Alberto Núñez Feijóo emerges triumphant, he will probably end up doing something similar. The 2027 elections will decide who governs Spain for the next several years, but they will also provide insight into whether the enduring shadow of 2008 still blankets our democracy or whether – nearly twenty years later – a new political cycle has actually begun.
