BarcelonaWindy day of an out of place clarity after so much rain; excellent temperature to manifest. I head down to Urquinaona in the morning and, after so many years, I know that the lack of tingling means that I won’t find the typical Diades munition. Atmosphere is easier to define by what it is not than by what it is. The pressure to stage smiles from the years of the Process has disappeared, but neither is the Cainite rancor that was breathed in the darkest moments after the fall. At the same time, you can’t perceive anything similar to the effervescent rage of Catalan in 2007, which must have needed an effect of novelty and surprise incompatible with the eternal return of the robbery of Rodalies.
I would say that the prevailing feeling is a mixture of lucidity and rockiness. On the one hand, the railway catastrophe is an emotional sticking point among all the demonstrators and justifies the diagnosis and solutions of independence: there is a “we already said it” floats that gives basis and direction to the matter. On the other hand, the loss of credibility of the Process parties means that there cannot be that vibration of urgency and the possibility of short-term changes that infused energy in the past. A lady sums it up well who says: “I was convinced I would see her [la independència]and now I think maybe not”. But she expresses it so militantly and with little resignation that it seems more like a call to persevere than to despair. The main novelty is the presence of young people who make themselves heard shouting “Bitch Renfe, and bitch Spain” without breaking any taboo. Apart from the infallible cry of independence, new things emerge such as “If we want to be on time, we have to kick Spain out”, which doesn’t quite work, but I like it, and “Fora Renfe, i fora Espanya” or “Fora Espanya, de Catalunya”, which do raise a quorum. Arriving at Plaça Sant Jaume, I also detect that one of the words that works best in the applause meter of Lluís Llach’s speech is this “fora”, a word that is not associated with a clear political strategy, but which responds well to the feeling of physical occupation that the Renfe trains make.
The afternoon march also ends in Sant Jaume, so that makes it easier to compare. There are far fewer people – half a square versus more than three quarters – and much less protestors. The sound system is disastrous and after a few meters you can hear absolutely nothing of what Anna Gómez, the spokeswoman for Dignitat a les Vies, says, who, compared to Llach, makes a speech much more based on personal desperation – “We are very screwed” – than on structural political causes. Despite the fact that a handful of banners with the symbol of the Workers’ Commissions have appeared, the star flag beats any other flag by a landslide, and at the same time the pro-independence demonstrators make no attempt to steal the limelight. The lack of a defined political enemy lowers the voltage of it all a lot, because Renfe and Adif, although they are sent numerous times “to shit on the road”, are too abstract entities to ignite any political flame. The official proclamation, “No trains, no future” also seems more meant to not annoy than to go on the offensive, and when it is shouted it does not achieve any emotional upheaval. Parliaments are over and people are clearly happy to have spoken out against an injustice, but it is impossible not to interpret the general low tone without thinking of the shadow that the history of independence casts on any social movement. To believe again after a failed revolution is a problem that touches the bone of the country, whether or not you are independent, like Rodalies.
