My times weren't, probably, your times. 1975, November the 20th,
General Francisco Franco Bahamonde died, leaving a young
inexperienced king at the helm, one expected to pass briefly into
oblivion. Spain was, of course, doomed to yet another period of
strife, perhaps into a civil war. We lost one million people in
the last one, in 3 years of conflict limited to a single, medium
sized nation.
And yet, what it transpired is that people wanted Peace and
Freedom, in that precise order. Our teachers didn't know what
democracy was or could be. In any case, we Spaniards were a lost
cause for democracy, too unruly. So what were the chances that
could work.
There were a few storms gathering too in the shape of political
violence from something-marxist “liberation” groups. I'm talking
about bombing ministers, shooting police officers, or bombing
their houses, kidnapping people of the wrong political persuasion
and so on and forth. I remember political violence from
something-fascist groups too: these were smaller so did less
harm, killing a dozen lawyers for the crime of being, presumably,
socialists for they defended workers at trial. Meanwhile, not a
few number of army officers were plotting a return to the old
times. An attempt in the 23rd of February, 1981 almost succeeded.
We missed school that day, out of fear. Because the un-thinkable
for the last-ditch Francoists was about to happen: the PSOE, (the
Socialist Workers' Party of Spain) was likely to rule the
country.
But neither them, nor the terrorists prevailed. And they did not
where the issues affecting these days were even worse and deeper,
and with a few more added with abject poverty. Up until the 80's
we could honestly envy the GDR/DDR. Violence against women? Worse
Gay rights? Not even the Left cared, or if they did they were
pretty quiet, Racism? That was something that happened in
America... gypsies... what do you mean gypsies? Third World?
Well, we were practically part of it.
What did prevail were people who sat down and talk, treat each
other as human beings, actually listened and agreed to build
something imperfect and messy, but that it led us to some sort of
freedom, rule of Law, democracy and peace. With time and a price
in blood that I'm not, PERKELE!, forgetting even the terrorist
demoralized themselves.
And who were these people who sat down and talk? Well the
National Chief of the Movement (aka Franco's Movement), Soviet
admiring Communists, Ultra-Traditionalist, Right Wing, very Right
Wing, Technocrats, a handful of Professors, and most of the
common people who knew of democracy what they had learned through
-heavily censored- Hollywood and their own imagination, to be
honest, and what they could learn from Spanish migrants abroad.
But they, the adults could talk. For the first time, perhaps in
tentamptive, at first even in pretty frigthened ways, they could
talk and listen. Most people and most of the time. We talked of
that even at school, off class, in the playground. And that was
Communist (or rather thought he was), and the other was such and
such.
But it didn't end in a festival of name-calling nor in fists, nor
in trying to win a shallow excuse for a debate for the sake of
winning it.
And now...
These days, you won't see me in a social network. I don't like
what I see. I don't enjoy the shouting contests, the battle of
slogans or the good against evil contests that don't welcome or
allow the slightest deviation from whatever the God-knows-who
decided what's right or wrong for today.
Independent thought or speech is ashamed, moderation is seen as a
vice, and all that matters is to align oneself with the trending
newspeak of the day. Long ago, I came to a point where I avoid
activists of any kind or persuasion, for I'm, honest-to-God,
afraid of them, even if they happen to agree with me in this or
that. Yeah, I can be contradictory. But then I've lost all hope
in to ever again discuss politics, in any meaningful ways,
several times.
And yet, how can one live without hope? Even if the world is
broken, we can still talk, mind to mind, heart to soul.
