'Lolololos' for the pro-independence comeback

BarcelonaThe afternoon begins listlessly with a heat that only seems tolerable because the climate's state of permanent exception 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 at Plaça Universitat loaded with preventive pessimism, and I sink into prejudice when I find the ANC stalls full of white hair. Then I grab hold of the lifeline of a group of teenagers with estelades who walk past 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 demonstration 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 ambient energy, there are continuities and differences with the good old days of the Procés. "I, inde, independència" 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 wit and generational spite, the truth is that the culture from the days 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 an lolololo that is unmistakably disco-like, and chants that would make whoever invented the revolution of the smiles blush have gained weight: the "fuck Spain" chants are perfectly accepted and the "boti, boti, boti, whoever doesn't bounce is Spanish" has climbed positions in the ranking of favorites near the top spots. Everyone is happy and the children of the tourists who are watching 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 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: 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. On the way back home, through the Eixample superblock, 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 behind the rhetorical years and there will be people who, for the first time, while talking to the waiters will try to maintain Catalan.