November 20 is a grim day in Spain. It marks the death of Falange founder José Antonio Primo de Rivera during the onset of the 1936–‘39 civil war and also the passing of General Franco after three and a half decades of repression that left more than 150,000 dead. Anarchist leader Buenaventura Durruti died on the same date, but it is the fascist leaders who are memorialized with a yearly pilgrimage to the Valley of the Fallen, where Franco and Primo de Rivera remain buried under the world’s tallest memorial cross.

This year is likely to witness an especially virulent 20-N. In the context of Catalonia’s bid for independence, nationalist fervor is on the rise. Spanish flags flutter from countless windows in cities and villages across the country. It would be wrong to think that extremists lurk behind each one — the creases of many rojigualdas in Madrid indicate how recently the flags were purchased. Most were hung in response to Barcelona’s longer tradition of adorning its balconies with esteladas. Nevertheless, the widespread increase in anti-Catalan feeling, coupled with the government’s autocratic mishandling of the crisis, has led observers to link the crisis to Spain’s darkest days. The ghost of Franco haunts Catalonia.

While it is tempting to read ongoing events as an authoritarian lapse, this interpretation remains incomplete. More than a simple throwback to Spain’s past, the Catalan crisis presents an ominous vision for the future: one in which the reconfiguration of the state takes place along reactionary and punitive lines. Spanish nationalism has become a vehicle for this endeavor, galvanizing the right and presenting a critical challenge for left and progressive forces. But it is, by its nature, incapable of producing a stable political outcome. As long as symbols of national unity remain cudgels in the hands of the Spanish right, disarray will persist.