Letters to the Editor

The other Badalona

I just left the dentist and a young doctor stopped me with tears in her eyes, took my hands, and said, "Thank you for giving a voice to the other Badalona, ​​the one that's ashamed of what's happening." Yesterday, a young man on the street told me, "It's an honor." And today, on the bus, a woman simply said, "Thank you."

This is the other side of Badalona: the side of good people, those who don't make noise but take action. Those who bring blankets, offer their cars, go to the hospital, cook, buy socks and gloves, bring sleeping bags, and share the pain, the shame, and the outrage over what's happening.

We need to make it clear that not the entire city is racist. Many residents who support the mayor aren't racist; they're simply conditioned by the fear that has been fostered for some time in the poorest neighborhoods. With all the means at his disposal, the mayor spreads hateful messages that generate confrontation among neighbors and criminalize a group that mostly comes from very poor countries to send money to their families.

"I came to work, not to have problems" is a phrase repeated among the people who barely survive under a bridge, thanks to the solidarity of their neighbors, on cold and rainy days.

Many speak without knowing the reality. Sub-Saharan migrants don't have work permits for two years and survive however they can. When they are finally able to regularize their status, almost no one will rent them a room. With no other option, they seek refuge wherever they can, as anyone would.

In two years there would have been time to address the B9 problem with seriousness and political will. Instead, simplistic answers have been offered to complex problems. Furthermore, a year ago the city's only shelter was closed, leaving fifty people on the street.

Aporophobia and institutional racism are a snowball effect that many residents of Badalona are not willing to tolerate. Governing should mean governing for everyone, with responsibility and without manipulating fear to win votes.

Angela Valeiras

Badalona

In Cerdanya

Going to Cerdanya is that intimate gesture we all make, thinking exactly the same thing: I'm not like everyone else. I go during the week, I know a small town, I don't go skiing, I go for the silence. And then you arrive and discover that there are twenty other people who also think they're not like everyone else, dressed in pristine Moncler parkas, stylish sunglasses, and with the constant feeling that they've stepped out of a magazine—it's the gorpcore look: "mountain chic but with Instagram style." Cerdanya is the Costa Brava in winter: same ritual, but with cold. Big cars loaded to the brim, brunches at 1,500 meters, and a shared obsession with "disconnecting" without losing cell service. Everything is very natural but with Nordic design and radiant heating. This isn't new. The coastal tourist already existed; now it's simply evolved. It's quieter, more sustainable—in theory—and very convinced that it's the one that fits in. The mechanism is the same: occupy the place for a few days, claim it as your own on Instagram, and leave with the feeling of having experienced something authentic. And here's the catch: I'm there too. I also think my case is different, that I'm doing "well." Perhaps that's why Cerdanya is so full: because we are all, absolutely all, different.

Montse Pijoan and Almaraz

Barcelona

Christmas pressure

I've worked as a sales assistant in clothing stores several Christmases, and every year I witness the same thing. Customers rushing around, parents arguing over the price of gifts, families laden with groceries trying to stay calm. You hear sighs and arguments over every little thing. Christmas should be a time of joy, but for many, it becomes pure stress and anxiety.

Andrea Tejero Buil

Barcelona