The Gospel According to Pedro ?

Sanchism has ceased to be a tactic and has become a catechism.

At the beginning it looked like a political strategy. One more maneuver in the long tradition of parliamentary pragmatism: alliances where necessary, rhetoric where convenient, flexibility wherever the balance of power required it. Politics, after all, has always had a certain elasticity.

But what began as a tactic gradually turned into something else. What once functioned as a political method now operates as a doctrine. A belief system with its own commandments, its own language, and its own faithful.

This transformation has an unmistakable sign: dissent is no longer interpreted as disagreement, but as heresy.

Anyone who questions certain policies is not simply a critic. He is labeled reactionary, extremist, denialist, or something similar. The debate stops being political and becomes moral. The adversary ceases to be an opponent and becomes a sinner.

Every catechism needs a narrative of salvation. In this case, the promise is simple: everything is justified in order to stop the return of the right. Every concession, every alliance, every institutional maneuver is explained as a necessary sacrifice to prevent something worse.

The problem with that logic is that it has no end point. If everything is justified to prevent a hypothetical catastrophe, then nothing can ever be considered excessive.

In this way, the political terrain becomes inverted. The exceptional becomes normal. The provisional becomes permanent.

And the faithful learn to repeat the creed.

They repeat that criticism weakens democracy. That questioning the government strengthens the enemy. That raising doubts is irresponsible in times of political tension.

The catechism expands.

It spreads through speeches, media narratives, and partisan slogans. It simplifies reality until every debate can be reduced to a single formula: either you are with us or you are with them.

History shows that when politics becomes catechism, institutions begin to suffer.

Democratic systems are built precisely on the opposite principle: disagreement. Debate. Friction. The possibility that the government may be wrong.

When disagreement is replaced by doctrine, politics becomes something closer to liturgy.

Spain seems to be moving in that direction.

The curious thing is that catechisms rarely collapse because their critics defeat them. They collapse when reality contradicts them too many times.

Because doctrines can survive errors.

What they cannot survive indefinitely is contradiction.

And politics, unlike faith, eventually has to deal with facts.