¡Hasta la revolución! … ¿siempre? Part 2, Spain
this is not a polemic article but a proposal for dialogue
this is not a polemic article but a proposal for dialogue
My thoughts have always been very skeptical of demonstrations.
Having grown up in a small town and not leaving it until my twenties, I never really got the chance to experience them. However, I have always allowed myself to think about them and look at them insufficiently from the outside, convincing myself less and less of their usefulness but always hoping in a certain sense to be able to change my mind. Excellent premises for deciding to participate in a ten-day peace demonstration in Spain without obviously knowing how to speak Spanish, right?
Actually I think so, in the end if we only rely on things known to us, or worse only on what we convince ourselves to be right even when it might not be, we would go against every democratic principle, risking, among other things, losing the opportunity to be able to change your mind or on the contrary to obtain confirmation, both fundamental things.
So I decided to get a plane ticket to Madrid and start this different business trip with the task of studying and documenting the Caravana Migranti, a march for peace that takes place every year to ask for justice for People on the move.
“PEOPLE ON THE MOVE = non-racist term to indicate a group of people who are facing a migratory route”
The arrival is decidedly particular: for the two nights preceding the Caravana I am a guest at the home of another participant, a "compañera" as they say here. She does not speak English and I speak Spanish very badly but one thing is terribly certain : she doesn't like me. She spends the first day answering me in a rather provocative way, for example after having told her that her house is very beautiful (it really is) and welcoming, her answer was a curt "why??!" with a pretended answer in Spanish. Definitely embarrassing situation. I discover the reason for this attitude of hers during dinner on the second day, when, together with two other people who then participated in the Caravana, she confesses to me that she was worried that I was a spy, an infiltrator of the Italian police who, for some reason, had pretended to be a photographer in order to spoil the plans for the various demonstrations. Me. A plainclothes policeman. Great start, isn't it?
After this amusing curtain we prepare for the departure of the following day. The arrival at the bus stop that will accompany us for the next ten days gives vent to all my greatest fears: the group is mostly made up of over 50 loads of specially modified stadium chants, themed flags, sandals and bandanas. The perfect recipe for the typical village trip designed specifically for middle-aged people that I would like anything but to participate in.
The first stage is a demonstration in Madrid that starts with the police blocking us even before starting, preventing us from going to a specific square but forcing us to do everything at the corner of a sidewalk, practically at the entrance to a luxurious hotel. What then happens is part of the schedule of actions that will be repeated for all the other stages of the Caravana, i.e. testimonies, signs and chants against the borders and a minute's silence before leaving for the bus that will take us to the next stage, in this case Màlaga where we will take a night ferry that will take us to Melilla, in Africa.
The journey is endless, in Spain it is unbelievably hot and to make matters worse for almost half of the journey each participant, myself included, must present themselves at the microphone: name, surname and your obsession. What they meant by "mania" I still don't quite understand, but I've made so many fools with Spanish that I don't even worry about this one, in case.
And then the choirs and the roll call, all shouted into the service microphone of the bus which was surely designed by someone who hates being with people because otherwise the unbearable volume of the loudspeakers from which the speaker's voice is fired will not would explain. I'm really in trouble, I feel like I'm taking part in an organized trip, one of those I've tried to avoid all my life and now I find myself, paying, living for the next ten days.
In the end, however, I manage to take it philosophically, I'm going to Africa for the first time in my life, I won't be there for a short time and going there angry would be a useless waste, I just hope I can be pleasantly surprised by these ten days of walking under the scorching sun of noon.
The arrival in Melilla is interesting: although it is a Spanish enclave, there is very little of Spain. The two days pass between the testimonies inside a social center followed by the actual march towards the border with Morocco at the precise point where exactly one year earlier several people died and many were injured in an attempt to reach European territory (a article about it https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-61956104 ). The theme of this year's Caravana is precisely this: asking for justice one year after the incident, when there is still no culprit.
We are less than 200 people taking part in the march, not many in short, not to mention that the inhabitants of Melilla who participate can really be counted on the fingers of one hand.
One of the questions that I am asked, or rather, one of the questions that I intercept and to which I impulsively decide to answer is: in your opinion, why are we so few? My arrogant but studied answer is: because the methods are old and useless , those who really want to lend a hand are already doing something else. Having entered a speech so forcefully by answering brusquely but honestly let's say that he didn't make me appear like the nicest person of the moment, but I would like to explain myself for a moment.
Let's start by saying that the riots, demonstrations, demonstrations or call them what you want, as we know them were born in the late sixties. Here, they have never changed since then: same writing on the same signs, same choirs and even the same clothes at times. Maybe they were of some use in the beginning, but now it really seems to me that they have lost that revolutionary poem. Underlining the problem, saying that something is not right and shouting it very loudly is a sacrosanct right, yes, but on the other hand, I think it is essential to understand that if a valid alternative is not proposed, then everything is left for some time.
For example, for all the ten days of the Caravana we did nothing but listen to testimonies, demonstrate, eat and then move to another place to repeat the same things. Which is perfectly fine, however... Especially as regards the testimonies, it is fabulous that they exist, but if we only tell each other that we already all agree on the subject, all this lecture will be of no use if not to give us a little pat on each other's backs, which I repeat is fine, but it is of little use. The question we should ask ourselves then is: what is the reason we are here? For us, or for others? Who needs, for example I say, the Caravana?
The days go by, the demonstrations and the testimonies continue while I continue to ask myself questions while I take the usual photographs that don't have much of a unique and special feature. Until after yet another testimony I understand one thing.
This is Maria, a Mexican lady who emigrated to Spain and mother of eight children, four of whom disappeared. She is over seventy years old and does not miss a single day of Caravana, including all the demonstrations for which she walks with stick in hand and shouts holding banners against the borders, a very recognizable force of nature. I remember that on the bus from Madrid, when it was her turn to introduce herself, she said that the thing she likes most about her, her "mania" for her, is to embrace and be embraced. There, while she was talking, for a few seconds I stopped thinking that the introductions were pathetic. I already knew about her story and perhaps for this very reason I never paid attention to her testimonies. This until I understood, listening carefully to one, that the Caravana, for someone like her who is doubly a victim of migratory routes, is a fundamental space for not feeling alone, for still having a reason to exist, for moving forward. Maria is doubly a victim because not only was she a migrant, but in the same routes she lost four of her children who were never found. For her, this trip is much more than a pat on her back.
However much I understand and share the question, a question arises spontaneously: is there really a need for a ten-day trip to make a person feel less alone, or could more equally functional moments be organized throughout the rest of the year? Personally I don't know if in the remaining three hundred and fifty-five days of the year Maria has no one around her. Indeed I am quite sure that you are surrounded by people who love you and I wish you that with all my heart. However, my thoughts are on a movement like the Caravana. To participate I personally had to take two planes, pay the registration fee plus all the meals that were not included in the package, counting that for eight nights I literally slept on the floor then let's make a round figure and let's say that in any case being low I spent around six hundred euros Wouldn't it have made more sense to hold two or three days of demonstrations and, if necessary, give the remaining proceeds to associations that operate directly in the field? Really, anything: food, medicine, clothing or legal fees.
The solidarity world is full of associations that operate in a decidedly more impactful way in silence. Now I may seem obnoxious and repetitive, but I really can't believe that these ten days of "vacation" (yes, I said it) can help change anything, if not my bank account. It's very easy to point the finger at those who think differently, expecting the way to come our way.
It would be wonderful to resolve all social conflicts by singing a happy song and dancing together in the street at midnight. But unfortunately the real world doesn't work like that, whether we like it or not. We can decide to abandon everything and live in harmony with ourselves and nature in a wooden shack on top of a very high mountain or on an island lost in the ocean, but we cannot hope that the world will follow us shouting from afar changing their political and social ideas.
Quoting one of my favorite songs:
So yes, ¡Hasta la revolución, siempre!, but let's try to stop for a second in this world that continues to run very fast and evaluate what is useful and what is not.
Let's experiment with new things and brush up on dialogue with everyone, including those who don't agree. In a historical period like the one we are experiencing, we cannot proclaim ourselves revolutionaries by closing the doors and pointing the finger at those who apparently scream louder than us.
My job consists in going in person to see what happens in the world, living certain experiences, understanding their dynamics and then telling them to those who cannot experience them or do not know them, emphasizing my impressions about them.
I believe that not only the Caravana, but all the pacifist and solidarity movements are stupendous and necessary realities, I just try to look at the aims of these actions and I just can't see a concrete result.
It may be that I was born and raised in a very objective way but I am convinced that if anything has potential but it doesn't work then it needs to be fixed otherwise it takes up space for nothing. Sometimes simply by oiling a few gears, other times trying to disassemble it piece by piece and then start from scratch until a solution is found.
It's really time to figure out where the fault is, sit down, lower our voices and look for humanitarian solutions that they can really solve global crises such as that of migratory routes.
