I have spent a few days in Andalusia and I have had a curious sensation of well-being, not new, because it reminds me of a recent stay in Madrid, in totally different circumstances. It did not take me long to deduce that the reason for this well-being is language. More precisely, the absence of linguisticstress that Catalans suffer in our day to day. When I move around the territories of monolingual Spain, my brain clicks and frees itself from linguistic worry: here Spanish is spoken, only Spanish, and there is nothing to discuss. Then the relationship with others, with people, is simplified from the outset, the conversation flows and lengthens, and after a short while this linguistic truce translates into a physical relaxation; the brain feels that it has been freed from a nuisance.No matter how much they tell us that bilingualism is a richness, the truth is that an indisputable lingua franca greatly facilitates human relations. And in most cities and countries, the language of collective relations is one and sufficient. In Barcelona and much of Catalonia, for mental, social, and finally demographic reasons, the lingua franca is Spanish, and against this observation we rebel, those of us who consider that Catalan needs our firmness as much as the empathy of others, like a good legal umbrella. But Catalan speakers socialize with the certainty that every day we expose ourselves to potentially conflictive situations. If we always maintain Catalan –as is our right, and as sociolinguists recommend– we risk not being understood, having to repeat everything twice, enduring grimaces and perhaps some outburst, being labeled as intolerant, xenophobic, and even unsupportive. And even if our Spanish-speaking interlocutor is receptive, empathetic, or has understood that life will be better for them with Catalan (which is what should be the case), often the conversation that arises is too basic, orthopedic, like tourists, and the linguistic stress remains.If, on the contrary, we switch to the language of others (out of "education", laziness, to avoid awkward situations, or simply because the future of Catalan doesn't matter that much to us), we are faced with a second added linguistic stress: that which comes from the feeling of guilt, the little voice inside (or outside, for that matter, there are social networks) that tells us we are doing it wrong, that it will be of little use to invest in normalization if Catalan speakers don't always speak it, at the risk of spoiling our day, or getting snubbed, or who knows what.I understand very well the frustration of the Pakistani or Honduran citizen who, after taking the relevant Catalan course, cannot practice it because the locals take for granted that they will not understand it. But that is usually the case: the vast majority of foreigners do not understand Catalan or speak it (they have not needed to). And we all reach a point where linguistic stress demands a break. Or a little affection: Catalan speakers, in addition to asking for firmness, must also be reminded that the decline of Catalan is not their fault, and they must be thanked for the sum of small and large gestures that have allowed our language to survive centuries of aggression.I'm writing this on the plane taking me from Seville to Barcelona. In the queue to board, a lovely elderly couple approached me with a smile: “You used to be on TV3, right? You're not on anymore. Let's see if you come back!”They've been living in Terrassa for decades, but they're visiting family in Cordoba. I speak Catalan, but we're in Seville. How do I address them? I say a couple of sentences in each. I praise the Andalusian spring. They reply in Spanish, they watch Polònia. I stay silent and smile. Linguistic stress. I could ask them why they don't speak Catalan after so long in Catalonia. But they're so nice...
