Lay down your weapons Madrid, it’s time to talk
Catalans are determined to keep their independence fight peaceful, but Madrid needs to start listening.
It was May 2012 in Barcelona and I was taking part in protests against high unemployment rates across Spain.
Protesters had set up a village in Placa Catalunya, Barcelona’s central square, deciding what happened next by democratic process. A 10-year-old girl got up to speak in front of thousands, asking for the government in Madrid to listen to its people.
When I wasn’t working I spent my time in the street, alongside other indignats ‘the outraged’; we felt like the world was watching us, taking notice.
After a few days, the police were sent in to disperse the indignats, swinging batons and firing rubber bullets indiscriminately.
I was walking out of a metro station with some friends and saw a tourist crouching scared in a stairwell, and a group of men running down into the station, skipping four steps at a time.
We saw the police vans approaching and heard the shots. I guided my friends down a side street and we zig-zagged our way home to safety, hoping the world was still watching.
Six years earlier, I had arrived in Barcelona Sants train station, incredibly confused by the bilingual street signs and Catalan menus, having thought that being in Spain meant I would be hearing Spanish spoken. ‘Catalan’ was unknown to me.
I had organised to stay on the couch of a friend of a friend, a local guy with whom I’ve now been married to for ten years. I was surrounded by the Catalan language and a culture steeped in age-old tradition.
All you had to do was go to a neighbouring village and you would discover a whole new set of local traditions.
The castellers would form human towers of nine people tall, dozens of locals would join hands and dance sardanas as a large circle, gegants i cap grossos, ’giants and big heads’ made of papier Mache figures reaching up to 5m tall would be paraded down the street and marvelled at by children.
My personal favourite was Caga Tio, a log with a friendly face painted on that you hit with a stick on Christmas Eve until he pooped out your presents, a tradition that moved to New Zealand with us.
I rarely visited my friends’ homes; the street was where life happened. It’s not uncommon for the main street at 11 pm to feel like the middle of the day with people walking off their dinner or congregating on street corners to catch up with their neighbours. Public seating is even arranged on angles to facilitate conversation.
And flags. Flags everywhere; Catalonia’s estelada; yellow with four red stripes. There was always a buzz of chatter, in Catalan of course.
It wasn’t always like this though. In the 1930s Catalonia had an autonomous government, much like it does now, but after the Spanish Civil War, Franco and his fascist regime abolished Catalan institutions and the Catalan language was banned.
As a linguistics student, I learn about how language and culture are intertwined. When language is lost, so is that culture’s world view and the cultural knowledge that comes with it. Catalans’ culture was repressed and they were forced to conform.
I heard stories from iaia (grandmother) about her husband having a motorcycle accident and passers-by refusing to help until he asked for help in Spanish.
The desire for independence isn’t just about isn’t just about the disproportionate amount of money that Catalonia’s economy generates compared to what it receives back, it’s about being in charge of your own history, language and culture. What sets Catalans apart is their determination to keep this fight for independence peaceful.
The recent independence referendum has been in the works for years. A ‘feeler’ was put out in 2014, unbinding, showing 49% wanted independence from Spain. Then another was planned for last week, but it all went down quite differently.
My husband and I didn’t sleep much that night, October 1. We were continuously refreshing Twitter feeds and waiting for international media to start publishing reports of the video images coming out of Barcelona; we watched as the Guardia Civil struck the elderly with batons, ripped ballot boxes away from polling booths, faces bleeding, and the bombers, Catalan firefighters, formed barriers to protect their people from the violence coming at them.
Very little sleep happened in the next week as we were frozen in shock at the videos circulating of anti-independence protesters draped in Spanish flags giving Nazi salutes and singing the fascist anthem.
A government official came out and said that Catalonia’s president, Carles Puigdemont, should not declare independence
or he could see the same fate as Lluis Companys. The same Lluis Companys who was jailed, tortured and executed by Franco’s regime.
I call Catalonia my other home yet I don’t sit on either the Yes or No side of the independence question. I certainly don’t claim to fully understand their complicated history enough to take a solid stance, but my friends and family do; some are for and some against, but they talk it through, often heated, but always passionate and respectful, it’s the Catalan way.
This referendum stopped being about Yes or No the moment the
police beat and shot at the nearly 900 people injured that day and became about having the right to make that choice without the fear of violence. To talk, that’s what the people want.
The Spanish King made a rare public announcement, supporting unity and warning Catalonia not
to make a claim for independence. What he didn’t say was anything about the almost 900 citizens injured by the police violence. What use is a monarchy if not to speak for all the people whose taxes fund their lavish lifestyle?
In the days leading up to the declaration I found myself overflowing with emotions; fear, anxiety, sadness, anger. Hoping for the best but knowing that there was a real chance of Spain invoking Article 155, essentially stripping away Catalonia’s autonomy, again.
My husband and I set our alarms to wake up in time to watch the declaration of independence on a live stream. Puigdemont declared independence. But then he didn’t. There was a lot of confusion over what this even meant. Schrodinger’s Cat-alonia they’re calling it. But essentially, he has asked to talk and now the ball is in Madrid’s court.
Spain’s Prime Minister Mariano Rajoy has refused any mediation and insists that Puigdemont clarifies what was declared so he can go ahead and strip Catalonia of their autonomy. That doesn’t sound like democracy to me.