Two decades have passed. Yet the Madrid train bombings and the days that followed remain vivid to many Spaniards. No previous attack had claimed 191 lives, and no president had faced such pressure over information manipulation. The question hung in the air: would ETA or Islamic militants be blamed, and what would the political consequence be for the main parties? If ETA were identified as the authors, Mariano Rajoy, then piqued by the proximity of elections, might gain ground. If Islamic militants were responsible, the electorate could link the attack to the Iraq War, an effort Zapatero opposed, potentially boosting his chances in a different political calculus.
In an ABC column from that Sunday, Jesús de la Morena, then the head of Police Information, stated: “from the outset, I doubted that was ETA’s modus operandi.” It is fair to say that, even amid a moment of national weakness, the likelihood that ETA could execute the most deadly attack in its history was hard to reconcile with the broader signs of the period.
Yet on the morning of the tragedy, Prime Minister Aznar called the editors of Madrid and Barcelona’s newspapers to “protect” the attribution of ETA. The motive appears tied to political calculations: Rajoy was seen as Aznar’s man, his standing damaged by public sentiment against the Iraq War and controversies surrounding a family wedding. The polls, still favorable at the time, were beginning to shift. In January, Rajoy was favored as the next president over Zapatero by a small margin; in February, Zapatero led. The sense of a changing tide was not lost on those who understood the electoral landscape.
Aznar and his inner circle feared a historic setback for their party. Acebes appeared ready to stand firm, while Rajoy did not openly oppose him. Meanwhile, intelligence services in the United States and Britain, alert since the era of the towers, grew concerned that Islamist groups were orchestrating another strike in Madrid. The information makers passed insights to influential reporters, and with the realities of a globalized world, borders felt porous enough to complicate the narrative control that once seemed possible.
What followed was a massive display of public reaction. Jordi Pujol, present at the gathering, recalls that the initial outcry led him to believe the PP would face a serious political challenge. The events of March 14 saw Rajoy and a vigilant Rubalcaba addressing the country on television in a late-evening broadcast during the final hours of the pre-vote period, while two confidants urged others to take to the streets in protest near the PP headquarters.
The deception was heavy, and its repetition over years to delegitimize the government of ZP left a lasting imprint. The aftermath also framed a broader conversation about political polarization. The interview that Sunday with a prominent journalist offered renewed clarity on the enduring consequences of that day. It is impossible to ignore the sense that the current polarization in Spain began to take shape on March 11, 2004. In Catalonia, a separate, later legal milestone would still intensify public debate long after the immediate crisis, shaping the political climate for years to come.
In reflection, the episode underscores how public memory negotiates truth, opinion, and the prolonged impact of a crisis on political life. The balance between information, influence, and accountability remains a live concern for citizens and leaders alike, even as the country gradually moved forward from the shock that forever marked that period.