In the tense autumn of 1975, as General Francisco Franco's regime clung to power, two footballers for Racing Santander staged a quiet, courageous act of defiance that would bind them together for life and etch their names into Spanish history.
The Final Executions and a Silent Pact
By September 1975, Spain was a nation under strain. Franco's health was failing and his authoritarian government, increasingly isolated, was lashing out. That August, the dictator signed a decree granting new anti-terror powers, leading to military tribunals. On the morning of Saturday, 27 September, five men—Juan Paredes Manot, Ángel Otaegui, Ramón García Sanz, José Luis Sánchez Bravo, and José Humberto Baena—were executed by firing squad. They were the last people to face the death penalty in Spain.
That same night, Racing Santander players Aitor Aguirre and Sergio Manzanera shared a room at the Hotel Rhin in Santander. Aguirre, a Basque who had grown up under cultural repression, and Manzanera, from a Valencian Republican family, listened to the grim news on Radio España Independiente. "When we heard the details of the executions, my heart was pounding," Manzanera remembers. "We had to do something." The idea was simple but dangerous: wear black armbands during their match the next day against Elche.
A Dressing Room Protest and Armed Repercussions
With subtlety paramount to avoid being stopped from playing, the pair improvised. Just before kick-off on Sunday, 28 September, they slipped into the toilets. "We said that if we could do something to damage this military regime, we should," Aguirre recalls. Using bootlaces, they tied makeshift armbands onto each other's sleeves. They took their place in the team photo and played the first half, with Manzanera crossing for Aguirre to score a header.
Their protest seemed to have gone unnoticed. But at half-time, the scene in the tunnel was transformed. It was packed with around twenty officers from the feared Policía Armada, their grey uniforms a menacing presence. The players were given an ultimatum: remove the armbands or face immediate arrest. Believing their message had already been sent, they complied. After a delayed restart, Aguirre scored a late winner in a 2-1 victory.
Interrogation, Threats and a Lifelong Bond
The repercussions were swift and severe. The next day, both men were interrogated at a police station. Aguirre faced hostility for his Basque heritage, while Manzanera was met with puzzled questioning. They were then taken to court, where prosecutors sought a five-year prison sentence. In a relief, the judge instead imposed a heavy fine, citing the lack of public disorder.
Safety, however, was elusive. The city, with its right-wing leanings, turned hostile. They faced street confrontations, tampered mail, and a terrifying death threat from the far-right paramilitary group Guerrilleros de Cristo Rey. "I had two small children. My wife had to leave," says Aguirre. Manzanera, living alone, took drastic precautions: "I kept a shotgun next to the bed. Every night I would listen to the elevator coming up in the early hours."
The pressure only eased with Franco's death on 20 November 1975, which began Spain's fragile transition to democracy. Fifty years later, the bond forged in that dressing room remains unbroken. "It gives me great satisfaction to know that I've contributed my tiny grain of sand to democracy," Manzanera reflects. Aguirre is equally resolute: "I'm almost certain I'd do it again. It was an important milestone... I'll carry that with me until they take me to the cemetery." Their story stands as a powerful testament to the courage of individual conscience against overwhelming oppression.
