I am not a lawyer, a judge or a politician, nor do I understand everything that is happening. I have no judgment (no one can have) on a sentence we don’t know, but even if I don’t understand everything that happens, I feel it. And the feeling is strong and unmistakable: I am sad. Sad like a sad girl, like when I was little I didn’t understand some things that happened in my family, but I knew it was time to be sad or happy. In important matters, such as politics or love, sadness comes long before lawyers or divorce and is as certain as it is inevitable, since it says more than anything will be said later. That’s why I think the sentimental analysis of what’s happening might be more accurate than all the political laughter.
So I allow myself to focus on the core of my sadness, which exploded last November 20th. It wasn’t García Ortiz’s conviction that was the reason for my sadness, it wasn’t a possible injustice that afflicted my heart. I already say that without a sentence it is difficult to judge what is right. For me, what broke my spirit is that, 50 years after Franco’s death, all the political and judicial power in my country began to deal with feelings. Worse, they began to deal with emotions. Even a girl knows that if the power starts shooting emotions into her head on November 20, she must be sad.
Because anyone who grew up in this country knows how emotions are spent here. They do not understand the reasons or pay attention to them, but simply rely on belonging. This is very noticeable in football, to speak of another national overflow, where the important thing to have fun is to know who you are before you even understand where the ball is. If, for example, you liked both Barça and Madrid, then you couldn’t enjoy football, at least not in Spain. Here a good match is one in which you win in the last minute, perhaps due to an unfair penalty that one part of the stadium sees very well and another will never recognise. I followed the trial through the chronicles of Manuel Jabois, who is from Real Madrid. Thanks to him I immediately understood that there were two teams. What I didn’t foresee is that the referees, the coaches and the federation itself could become one thugs.
How can I not be sad, if what hurts me now is that there is no place in my country where the hierarchy is different, where the law is above emotions; where institutions prevail over political belonging, institutions that are due to other values and hierarchies (such as justice, beauty, equality, the right to housing for those of us who don’t pay with black money, what do I know). But what happens? The emotion hooligan (read ultra, fanatic, violent, radical) has crept into the institutions and we will all lose. Because ascription is the shittiest way to build an identity. In short, it forces us to continually talk about the test, I mean the match of the week, to confirm who we are. However, we are much more than our emotions. We have deep feelings and desires and deserve to know that we live in a country capable of counting on them and working for them. Or we will become a very sad country.
