'Lolololos' for the independence comeback
BarcelonaThe afternoon begins dull with a heat that only seems tolerable because the permanent state of exception of the climate has forced us to lower our standards. It is a public holiday Friday and Catalan politics has accumulated so many years of apathy that I admit I arrive loaded with preventive pessimism at Plaça Universitat, and I sink into prejudice when I find the ANC stands full of white hair. Then I grab onto the lifeline of a group of teenagers with estelades who pass by me. They are shy, they explain to me that they came down by train from Os de Balaguer and say they don't know much about politics. To shake them up a bit I ask them to compare this Diada with the previous ones they have experienced, and they all agree on one point: "There are more young people than ever". As I get closer to the heart of the matter I realize they are absolutely right: I haven't missed a single demo since 2012 and I had never seen so many young people. Although the rational part of my brain knows that the absolute number cannot be compared to that of the epic years, the impression of seeing a proportion of young people higher than that of older people completely changes the emotional color of the Diada.
This rhymes with the fact that the demonstration is divided into two columns and that the one for the "future" wins by a landslide in attendance over the one designated as the "present". A point in favor of the organization for taking metaphors into account. Regarding the environmental energy, there are continuities and differences with the good old days of the Procés. "I, inde, independence" and "we don't want to be a region of Spain" continue to be a hit and, although some youth organizations sing "this is not a party, it's a protest" with a good balance of grace and generational spite, the truth is that the culture of the times of not a single piece of paper on the ground still marks the familiar and jovial tone of it all. At the same time, when the Elèctrica Dharma anthem plays, it is sung with alolololo unmistakably disco-like, and chants that would make whoever invented the revolution of the smiles blush have gained weight: the "fucking Spain" ones are perfectly accepted and the "jump, jump, jump, Spaniard who doesn't jump" has climbed positions in the ranking of favorites close to the top spots. Everyone is happy and the children of the tourists watching it applaud with their eyes wide open.
To ask myself the same question that I asked the teenagers, I would say that the big difference between this Diada and the previous one is that the fear that a Generalitat without pro-independence supporters would mean the beginning of the end has been overcome, and the feeling of a slow comeback is beginning to spread. The parties have been made invisible with resounding success and, instead of politicians, there are tractors at the head of the march: someone should know how to interpret politically what it means that the farmers break the applause-meter when the speeches begin and they are thanked. Upon arriving at Plaça Catalunya, the institutional speeches drag on excessively and the charisma of Lluís Llach is missed. With the farmers' permission, for years now the references to the language have been the ones that unleash all the latent energy, and mixing social issues with the demand to be able to live in Catalan is the key that opens all locks. Heading back home, through the Eixample superblocks, where the dystopia and the utopia that Barcelona could be live in a state of superposition, I find the terraces normally colonized by tourists full of yellow shirts and I think that we are leaving the rhetorical years behind and there will be people who, for the first time, while talking to the waiters will try to maintain the use of Catalan.
