The youth of Manlleu: why do some have to hide more?

"To José Manuel, who died in his cabin." This was the dedication of my first book, published in 1982, which commemorated the fourteen-year-old boy who, a few months earlier, had burned to death in his cabin—his refuge—on the outskirts of the city, near where TV3 would later take root. I've been thinking again about this first tragedy of my professional life upon hearing the news of the deaths of five teenagers, also by fire, also in their refuge, now more urban. Although history doesn't repeat itself, I can't help but recall how, decade after decade, teenage boys and girls seek out spaces of supportive companionship and affection, and, especially, how some, lacking other spaces and companions, seek refuge from adult society. It's the adolescent periphery beyond the periphery of the city: young people on the margins of society.

I could go from image to image, from the caves where the "Ciutat sense llei" (the Sant Ildefons neighborhood of Cornellà) ended, to the huts in the meanders of the Llobregat River, the territory that would later become commercial areas, or, if we continued towards Barcelona, ​​the never-used metro stations. And in these images, there is always the need of teenage boys and girls—in times of compulsory adolescence—to find a space away from the gaze of adults; in their case, moreover, a product of the need to share lives on the margins. This hasn't changed. Peripheral territories; marginalized communities; teenagers from the margins of society who are marginalized within their adolescence.

I know nothing about the missing lives that are in the news today. But I do know about everything they—it seems—conceal, and that we adults try not to look at. Perhaps we weren't looking at the neighborhood, a territory where some young people can only feel at home in a storage room. The limits of the urbanized city are now the uninhabited limits of a building. Perhaps we weren't looking at the homes. Young residents can only find life on the street. There isn't room for everyone at home. In the same way that, decades ago, you had to leave the dining room to unfold the foldNow, not everyone can fit on the sofa.

Perhaps these Catalan teenagers from families without national identity cards are among adults who don't quite understand their own adolescence. Perhaps we're talking about local teenagers who realize every day that they don't belong in the local youth scene. I know nothing about their lives at school. But given the group's composition, I'm not sure if they could fall in love with whomever they wanted.

I could explain how, when one in two residents of certain neighborhoods were young people, we tried to find, in our street outreach, "friendly" bars that would let them hang around without buying anything. Or talk about how, in very different municipalities across the country, neighbors complained about finding the street occupied by young people—certain young people—but if they managed to find a "garage" to meet in, those same neighbors protested because who knows what they were doing inside. When youth centers started to appear, the battle began to clarify who could enter. Some, all they can do is watch from the opposite sidewalk. They easily see that it's not their place.

Why, after a tragedy, do we always say "We didn't know"? What is it that we didn't know? Why are some lives especially unknown? Why must some lives be hidden more? These are old and new forms of marginalization in unjust societies, which systematically exclude and singularly forget those who are born and grow up in this marginalization. And the generations born in marginalized areas only perceive that, if they have one, the future lies on the margins.

It's curious to hear "we didn't know" from those who demand harsh penalties in the streets and buy votes from previously frightened neighbors. If they're not in the streets, where are they? It's curious to hear those who complain about the enormous diversity in schools and who will attribute the poor results of the next PISA report to those who aren't quite from here. We haven't moved beyond the social construction of "bad influences," and we're not at all concerned with building any degree of coexistence among young people. It's curious to hear that no one knew anything about their lives after school ended. Were their lives completely ignored, lived in solitude?

A few months ago, I wrote an epilogue for a text on the history of youth policies. It ended like this: "Just as 'before,' today, too, politics consists of creating and implementing the appropriate ways to respond to needs… to the needs of young people."