Last week I explored the notion of culpa in vigilando—“fault in supervising”—attributed to Pedro Sánchez, noting that the legitimacy of his government was framed in 2018 around a pledge of ethical renewal. Recently, that foundational narrative has stepped into a gray area.
Today, in this weekly column on European politics, I aim to offer another perspective on what is already Spain’s second-longest presidency, second only to the tenure of Felipe González. I do so because, in my view, both European and foreign policy are domains where Pedro Sánchez’s mandates have made a real difference.
Sánchez isn’t the first Spanish leader to seek to amplify the country’s international weight. Nor is he the first to leverage diplomatic successes to bolster his domestic political position. José María Aznar pursued the Atlantic alignment, while José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero built part of his international standing around the withdrawal from Iraq and his opposition to that war.
But the Sánchez era, together with his Foreign Minister, José Manuel Albares, marks a distinct turn. He is perhaps the first president in Spain’s democracy to promote comparatively explicit positions in areas where broad “passive consensus” once prevailed, turning foreign policy into an arena where differences in national politics are openly expressed.
For much of our democracy, Spain sustained a peculiar relationship with international affairs that functioned thanks to that same passive consensus, which in many cases amounted to inaction. Our stance wasn’t always codified in writing or anchored in grand, formal agreements; rather, it was part of a shared political culture. Europe provided a common horizon, while relations with the United States were managed with variable nuance, yet within known boundaries. Spain’s positions on the Middle East, Morocco, and China all evolved gradually, without major ruptures.
During previous administrations, even extraordinary episodes like the Iraq war were perceived as clear exceptions. The intensity of the political conflict provoked by Aznar’s decision could be partly explained by the fact that it broke from a somewhat established tradition of continuity.
The novelty of Sánchez’s approach is in the willingness to adopt recognizable and differentiated positions on some of the biggest international debates of our time
Thus the novelty of Sánchez’s approach lies in his readiness to take recognizable and differentiated stances on some of the largest international debates of our era, departing from Spain’s traditional preference to remain within broad margins of consensus and diplomatic flexibility.
One of the first, most evident cases involved Morocco and Western Sahara. Throughout Spain’s democratic era, successive governments have maintained a difficult balance between Spain’s historical commitments, its relations with Morocco, the stability of Ceuta and Melilla, cooperation on immigration, and ties with Algeria.
Sánchez’s pivot toward Rabat’s autonomy plan represented a new approach to an issue long defined by the search for diplomatic equilibrium. That decision was read by Sánchez’s critics as a substantial modification of Spain’s historical position. As a result, the issue ceased to be purely diplomatic and surfaced on the domestic agenda, generating tensions within the governing coalition, provoking parliamentary clashes, and opening a public debate that remains unresolved.
Something similar has occurred with Gaza and Israel. On that conflict, Spain maintained positions relatively close to those of most European partners. Recognition of the State of Palestine elevated Spain to a more visible role within European and international debates, but it also had domestic repercussions. Once again, a matter that was diplomatic in essence escalated into an element of political differentiation. One’s stance on Israel was woven into party identities, parliamentary disputes, and the public conversation in Spain.
Transatlantic relations have jumped from the plane of security into discussions of political identity, European sovereignty, and ideological positioning within Spain
Moving chronologically, a third example can be found in Spain’s relationship with the United States. Until recently, issues related to NATO, U.S. bases, or strategic cooperation formed part of a relatively stable consensus. Even when ideological differences mattered, governments tended to preserve broad continuity.
However, tensions with the Trump administration and the implications of U.S. policy toward Iran have introduced new fault lines. Transatlantic relations have shifted from security concerns toward discussions of political identity, European sovereignty, and ideological positioning within Spain.
The same holds for China. Decisions about Beijing are triggering increasing domestic political debate, because they force answers to questions that go far beyond trade. Should Europe align itself with Washington? Should it preserve its own strategic autonomy? To what extent can Chinese investments in sensitive sectors be accepted?
All four of these examples point in the same direction. The politicization of Spain’s foreign policy did not emerge simply because international affairs intruded into national politics, but because certain government decisions replaced a logic based on consensus and balance with a logic based on more defined and visible stances.
Spain is more visible today than a decade ago. The positions taken by the country generate attention. Spain’s capacity to influence certain European debates is greater
For a long time, passive consensus kept international conflicts at the margins of political debate. Now, in the absence of that tacit agreement, parties compete, the media pays sharper attention, citizens take sides, and foreign policy enters the daily political struggle. I believe this transformation has positive effects. Spain is more visible today than it was ten years ago—the positions the country has adopted draw attention. Spain’s ability to influence certain European debates is stronger, and a country that takes clear positions is more likely to be noticed than one that merely moves with the crowd.
But visibility comes with a price. When a country adopts more defined positions, it also encounters greater resistance. Those decisions affect specific interests, movements face heightened scrutiny, and adversaries have stronger incentives to respond.
Recall the Pegasus affair at the start of 2022, when the mobile phones of senior Spanish officials—the Prime Minister and several ministers, including Margarita Robles, Fernando Grande-Marlaska, and Luis Planas—were illicitly infected and sensitive information extracted. The technology used was Israeli. Read the article we are publishing today on the U.S. view of the Zapatero case. Former CIA officer Bjorn Beam states that “HSI (Homeland Security Investigations) has steadily expanded its global reach, and its priorities have become more political under the Trump administration.” He also explains that “regardless of the case at hand, this pattern makes any decision to share evidence with a foreign court subject to additional scrutiny.”
International relevance and political conflict tend to grow in parallel, and when political actors are forced to choose sides, foreign policy is pulled into national policy. In Spain, this state of affairs is here to stay; yesterday’s video of Alberto Núñez Feijóo backing Keiko Fujimori reflects that reality. The leader of the People’s Party posted the clip because he believed it defined his political identity in Spain. Perhaps that’s also why he later deleted it.
