A critical voice reflects on the weekly scene, noting collective dissatisfaction and the deep polarization of society. The speaker laments the political class and worries that real change feels distant in the wake of Francoism, describing a society split by echo chambers where laughter no longer acts as social catharsis for the flaws of rival parties.
A professor of journalism from the University of Valencia, María Iranzo-Cabrera, has recently published the study Papus (1973-1987): The Counter-Power of Knowledge in the Spanish Crossing. The piece analyzes the political climate in which the title appeared and traces its path to extinction, driven by economic challenges in 1987. It portrays a magazine that once stood as a bold, heroic voice and faced fines, dossiers, kidnappings, and threats from far-right groups. The dramatic events culminated on the afternoon of September 20, 1977.
On that day, several men handed a briefcase to the building’s doorman so it could be sent onward. The explosive inside the bag detonated, causing the death of the building’s doorman and injuring eighteen others. Among the injured was Rosa Lorés, the pregnant telephone operator for the weekly.
The attack disrupted the magazine’s momentum and its leadership. The departure of Óscar Nebreda, Gin, and Ivà marked a turning point, ushering in a new era and a decline in broadcast reach. Some attributed an increase in circulation after the bombing to a decision not to profit from the tragedy, a claim denied by managers. Yet the trauma of Juan Peñalver’s death left a lasting imprint on the team. In the editor’s view, the explosion did more damage than any pen could convey; it also brought into focus questions about who authored the humor and what was considered acceptable.
all the way
In the early 1970s, major publishing houses were concentrated in Barcelona. ELF Editors, owned by Godo Group, sponsored the launch of a satirical sports weekly in 1972. Its success inspired the creation of a similar publication, and by 1973 Ramón Tosas “Ivà” and Òscar Nebreda launched a political satire magazine named Papus. The reference to Papus is tied to Catalan folklore and the idea of a fantastical monster kept for scares.
The name ‘El Papus’ refers to Papu, a monster in Catalan mythology created to frighten children.
The economic power of the Godó Group enabled a stylish launch, with television commercials featuring an Argentinian comedian and print ads across various media. A month before hitting newsstands, the magazine faced its first sanction, a pattern that continued as the law and military authorities pressed their scrutiny.
In the pages that followed, Papus confronted the military order head-on. The first of these, issue 32, questioned the military hierarchy’s alleged involvement in a notorious conspiracy. The second, issue 33, mocked veterans injured in the Civil War on the first anniversary of Franco’s death. The climate remained tense, with home detention and periodic appearances before military courts affecting cartoonists who contributed to the magazine. Jordi Amorós, signing JA, faced a third military trial between September and October 1977, a proceeding that would soon unfold. A bomb exploded at the editorial office, a calculated act aimed at halting satire and striking fear within the far right.
They did not want to acknowledge that Spanish society had changed and that political interest had waned.
The impact of the attack did not immediately end Papus’ influence. Some argue that the magazine persisted, while others note that the tensions with the far right, along with legal battles, contributed to a gradual decline. Political humor continued to evolve as the press landscape shifted toward new satirical voices and general-interest magazines.
From hope to disappointment
Iranzo-Cabrera describes Papus as a powder keg during a period of hopeful youth seeking political change. The era encompassed the end of the Franco regime, amnesty for certain offenses, legal recognition of political parties, and advances in women’s rights, LGBTQ+ rights, abortion, and divorce. The atmosphere of transition was both liberating and fragile, with some commentators arguing that the new freedoms brought a sense of risk and volatility to the press.
Some chapters note that the newly empowered press could challenge established norms, yet the transition also faced a pact of silence among political parties. Change came with hope, but the pace of reform appeared slow to many observers, and the magazine faced threats linked to its provocative content. The broader media landscape also shifted as graphic artists joined traditional newspapers and new satirical outlets emerged.
In the era of investigative journalism and sensationalism, another dynamic attracted readers. Papus offered a lens into who represented the fledgling parliament and how the era’s political figures presented themselves. Its creative approach, blunt language, colloquialisms, and embedded messages resonated with a generation seeking deeper political understanding.
The magazine’s journey also involved legal scrutiny, with questions about accountability, responsibility, and the role of press in a transforming society. Courts addressed the tensions between free expression and public safety, while editors and contributors navigated a challenging environment.
The broader takeaway is that Papus stood at a crossroads of culture, politics, and journalism, illustrating how satire can both illuminate and provoke in a society negotiating change. The story remains a reminder of the power of independent voices in shaping public discourse during a pivotal period of Spanish history.