The Catalan Chronicles: A Kind of Declaration of Sorts

About midday on October 27, 2017, the Catalan regional parliament was on the verge of declaring independence from Spain.  Or so it seemed.  By this point, nothing was a sure thing anymore.  To some it was a historic culmination of centuries of wrangling with bad old Spain, and a look at the past might suggest that.  As usual, these are half-baked notions.

  • 1641 – Catalonia wishes to break away from the Spanish crown and join the French one.  It wasn’t exactly what you’d call independence.  They were just looking for a new boss.
  • 1714 – Searching once again.  This time turning their backs on Philip V in favor of Archduke Charles.  No independence.  Another failure.
  • 1873 – They try to form a new state within a federal framework during Spain’s First Republic.  It wasn’t really a call to secede.
  • 1931 – The renewed announcement for a state forming part of the Iberian Federation.  As it lasted only three days, we can consider it a flop.
  • 1934 – Three years laters, yet another attempt to rearrange the Spanish political setup.  Didn’t happen.

This time around, the secessionists weren’t going to skirt the issue.  They weren’t going to beat around the bush.  At least, that was what I was hoping for.  With three false starts in a month, people were starting to believe they were chickening out. Me included. But they actually pulled it off.


Now, as brave and daring as it may have seemed, after all many were facing jail time for open rebellion, the actual events and circumstances were a great deal less heroic than what will probably go down in the history books. Trust me, Patrick Henry would have been slapping his forehead in disbelief.


First of all, they had no choice.  After weeks of dillydallying, time was running out.  Rajoy and the “constitutionalist” parties weren’t budging an inch, and the senate was about to pass a bill to activate Article 155, which would effectively suspend home rule for the region and land the insurrectionists in the slammer. You could say, things looked bleak.  As it was, Puigdemont was already earning a fairly well-deserved reputation for being a wimp when it came to throwing down the gauntlet; were he to back down and obey Rajoy’s executive orders, you could pretty much kiss goodbye his and Catalonia’s aspirations.  It was time to take the plunge.


But that wasn’t all.  By declaring independence before the executive order was approved, the Catalonian government could claim it no longer had to abide by Article 155 since it was now a sovereign nation.  If they waited for the order to be put into effect, they would essentially be saying that they still belonged to Spain.  In short, it was their last chance.  So it was pretty much a given that it would do it.


Parliament convened for a few minutes until it became evident that there would be a vote on independence.  The infamous DUI, as they called it.  This may sound like getting picked up for drunk driving in Spain, but it actually stands for Declaración Unilateral de Independencia, and it loomed ominously.


A unilateral vote.  Boy, do the Spanish get all hot and heavy when they talk about this.  The Spanish press and the central government go nuts.  They rant and rave and bitch about it not being fair.  This, of course, is ludicrous because, just how often are formal declarations of independence pronounced on a consensual basis?  Spaniards I knew would complain about this and, once again, ask for my opinion on the matter.  So, while visions of the Congressional Congress mooning the monarchy danced in my head, I pondered my answer.   I mean, I can’t imagine Jefferson raising his hand and saying, “maybe we should run this document by King George III before we sign it.”


So, I tell them.  But they don’t want to hear the truth.


“They can’t do it!”


“Why not?”


“Because it’s not legal!”


“Neither is declaring independence!  So who cares if it’s unilateral or not?”


“Because they can’t do it.  They just can’t.”   There was no point in carrying on.


Anyway, unilateral or not, the vote was imminent, and once it became clear they were going to ask for the “yeas” and “nays”, the Pro-Spain parties walked out in protest because 1) they didn’t have close to the number of votes to shoot the proposal down, and 2) if they had participated, they would have been granting legitimacy to the secessionist movement.


The independence supporters didn’t care because 1) they did have enough votes to carry the motion and 2) they didn’t care much about the legitimacy of anything of anything, so it didn’t matter.


But the best part was yet to come.  It what I would later consider to be one of the cheesiest declarations in history, second only to the coitus interruptus two weeks before, the remaining members of parliament decided to make it a silent vote, a highly unusual measure.  The aim was simple: if the vote is secret, then the government won’t have any proof of who voted for independence.  Some may say, “but I thought only the pro-independence parties participated.”  Well, nope.  A handful of representatives from a coalition of minor parties known as CSQEP planned on either abstaining or voting no.  Everyone pretty much knew who was who, but that was irrelevant.  The fact was, no one could prove it.


The procedure was highly criticized by the opposition parties for cowardice, especially by the PP’s Xavier Albiol who, ironically, had supported the idea of a secret vote if he could assure that the no would go his way.


Stop the works!!!!  What?  So, Mr. Albiol disapproves of the vote, refuses to grant legitimacy to any separatist referendum, and accuses the seccessionists of being a bunch of chickens, says he would vote in secret if he could win??  These are the kinds of things that led to the PP’s pathetic performance in the ensuing elections in December.


In any event, the vote took place.  In theory, 72 votes were foreseen to be in favor of the proclamation, with eleven against.  In the end, 70 cast their choice to break away, while ten rejected the proposal.  Two voted for neither.  That means there was another which did not figure anywhere.  It didn’t matter.  The deed was done.

The Catalan Chronicles: Lost in Translation 1

Many years ago I was lying by a pool in Torrevieja, Alicante, a large and spectacularly unrefined summer resort town in the southeast of Spain.  Torrevieja’s tourism population swells to the hundreds of thousands in summer, not unlike the way the  marabunta might descend upon an unsuspecting baby boar on its last leg.  This is why seeking refuge in a relatively lowkey pool, away from the hassles of humanity out on the beach.  The pool area teemed with vacationers from all over Europe: Brits, French, Swedish, Russian, German and Italians.  A consequence of this impromptu congregation was a cacaphony of tongues filling the air, mainly parents barking out instructions and warnings to their children.  The Spanish, who also happened to be there, had no problem with this because, since the 1960s, beach-fringed coasts filled with sangria-seeking visitors from abroad had become a natural feature of the landscape.  They are the “guiris”, a slangy, affectionate (although, on occasion, derrogatory) nickname for foreigners.


There was also a young boy from Galicia there who ran up to his father and shouted, “Papá.  Non teño as chaves.”  (Dad, I don’t have the keys.), in the language that is commonly used there.  Galicia is a region just north of Portugal, so for simplicity’s sake, I’ll describe gallego as a mesh between Spanish and Portuguese.  It’s as old as Castilian Spanish and it has an official status in that region.


Well, the mere utterance of those otherwise innocuous words used in an otherwise everyday situation must have sounded like someone ripping a fart the size of rocket blast, because a man sitting in his beach chair nearby, raised his head, let his draw drop to the ground and groused, “Hey kid!  We speak Spanish around here, got it?”


The man happened to be from the Basque Country, by the way, which also has its own very peculiar tongue.  Yeap.  You read right.  Under the warmth of Spanish summer sun, all languages are equal, but some are more equal than others.  Such is the paradox of a country like Spain where linguistic plurality is a reality, a surreality, an irreality.  And it is the source of innumerable problems and debates.


But first, a little lesson on the subject, so this mess makes a little more sense to you.  Despite what we learned, or didn’t learn, in our Spanish classes, Spain is actually home to a whole slew of languages, the most widely spoken of which are co-official languages in their corresponding regions.  Spanish is official all over the country.  Galician is spoken in Galicia.  Basque in the Basque Country and some parts of Navarra. Aranese, which is a version of Occitan spoken in the Pyrenees.  Catalan in Catalonia, the Balearic Islands and Valencian, which is virtually identical to Catalan but fiercely defended as a different tongue by it’s users.  It is one of the most bizarre debates in this field and worthy of its own post, so we will have to wait a little longer.


Those are the Big Five…but it doesn’t end there.  You also have a dozen other minor and moribund dialects and varieties which are struggling to fight off extinction.  These include Asturian (commonly known as Bable), which shares certain traits with Galician, Leonese (la ancient language of the kingdom of Leon), Montañés in Cantabria, Estremeñu in Extremadura, Fabla in Aragon.  While they have not reached the status of full officialdom, they are recognized as culturally significant in their regions and are protected and will remain that way until they, I hate to say, die off.


So, when Catalans purport that they have their own language, they are certainly being truthful.  But it’s hardly a one-man club.


It pains me to say this because I feel that one of Spain’s diverse linguistic wealth is one of its greatest attributes.  I like to pick up some of the languages when I’m in those areas, and I’ve become quite proficient in Galician.    It should be a source of national pride.  For many it is…but not for everyone, which is why you have knuckleheads like the man at the pool scolding the boy for speaking Galician when five feet away another child is asking his mother for a sandwich in Finnish and is exmpt from untold scorn.  It just doesn’t seem fair.


You see, few things define a nation like a language.  Hard to think of anything that brigns people, or peoples, together more.  I have nothing to do with South Africa, but you can bet your pack of biltong that the fact were share a common tongue already creates an affinity that bonds us more than I think I could ever have with citizens from Bulgaria, say.  But in the same way that it brings some individuals together, it can also serve to divide others.  Speaking the same language not only helps to determine who you are, it also sheds light on who you are not…or choose not to be.  The Generalitat was very much aware of this when it started to adopt an aggressive pro-Catalan policy just about everywhere within its jurisdiction.  The purpose was threefold: enhace the presence of Catalan, recover lost ground and, let’s not kid ourselves here, eradicate Castilian, because nothing says more about not being a part of a country than claiming you don’t speak the same language.  And it makes sense, until someone raises their hand and asks a devastating question: What about Switzerland?


First of all, you have the name.  Spanish in its own language is known as “español”. While this innocent word might appear little more than a subject you opt to study in school, it too is the object of controversy.  Many nationalists become very testy about the use of the word as it suggests it is the language of all of Spain when in fact there are many different tongues.  They think castellano (or Castilian) is a more appropriate word as it refers to the lanaguage of the people from Castile, as opposed to those from other places like Aragon, Asturias and Valencia.  And, of course, Catalan.  These are all romance languages, each in widely varying stages of existence, and all have about the same age.  The oddball is Basque, which is a world unto its own and has no definitive relationship with any other language.  Theories abound, but none of them is fully convicing.  The most likely scenario is that it is non-Indo-European, making it the sole survivor of an age that disappeared a long, long time ago.


You have to chalk one up for the nationalists on this point.  They have a good point there.  Even the people from England, who liked to dominate the world in just about every way possible, never called their own way of speaking “British”, but rather the way it’s known today, “English”.   Hardcore Spaniards get all bent out of shape about this.  They clench their fists and pound tables arguing that it has always been called Español.  Dear God, it’s that Big Bang thing again.  Everything in Spain started since the universe was born.  I can’t be bothered. All I’ve noticed is that there is a growing tendency to use castellano, even in the Spanish-speaking areas.  I wonder if it’s being politically correct or just a resurgance of pride in the word Castile.

The Catalan Chronicles: the Day the Music Died

Every September 11, tens of thousands (and on occasion hundreds of thousands) of Catalans gather in the streets of Catalonia, and in particular, Barcelona, mainly in commemoration of a tragic event that took place in history. They carry banners and flags, sing songs, chant, lay flowers and deliver often impassioned and defiant speeches.  It is known as the Diada.  It is a solemn day.


Contrary to what the modern mind might deduce, the host of celebrations are not held to pay homage to the victims of the terrorist attacks in 2001, but rather to another fateful moment nearly three hundred years earlier: the day Catalan rebels succumbed to the 14-month long siege Felipe V had laid on Barcelona in 1714.  That is, to a monumental defeat.  Many major national holidays in other parts, such as the United States and France, place emphasis on moments of patriotic glory; the Catalans chose to recall a collapse of what they saw as their known world.   I guess it would have been as if the ass-kicking at Pearl Harbor were turned into our national holiday, but with the difference being that the Americans managed to push back the Japanese threat.  Spain, as they see it, still hasn’t left.


It was from this setback that a very cleverly woven tale was born.  A story based on a handful of facts which were molded into half-truths and distortions and presented to anyone who would listen.  The younger, the better.  The more impressionable, the easier.  It has been done so in such a complete and deft manner that the message has grown roots deep into the separatist Catalan psyche.  A yarn that has been recounted time and again, and which is unlikely to be removed any time soon.


Just what is this story all about?  Here’s what happened according to the legend:


The history begins with “Once upon a time…” and goes on to describe a utopian land called Catalonia, where people lived freely and happily under the protection of their “institutions” and “constitutions” without the presence of pesky intruders from Castile.  The principality formed an essential part of a larger federation of nations known as the Crown of Aragon, though Aragon was not really a kingdom, its crown was not really the supreme power, and Catalonia’s relationship was never beyond that of an associate member.  Some nationalists even argued that had it not been for the Catalans, Aragon would not have existed at all.  It was a curious interpretation of the facts to say the least.


Then came the War of the Spanish Succession and everything fell apart.  The Catalans initially supported Philip V, the Bourbon pretender, who is even said to have called their land a “nation”.  This is a term present-day Catalans are so fond of; so much so that it practically single-handedly triggered the current crisis.  That’s why the rest of Spain is so fearful of it.


Be that as it may, a rift between Philip and the Catalans grew as the monarch’s true colors showed through.  He and his troops treated the Catalans like dirt, so they decided to support the Habsburg candidate instead, Archduke Charles of Austria.  They even came to proclaim him Charles III (but it never stuck).  Catalonia rose up against the threat and succeeded in expelling it, with the inestimable help of the British.  Battle lines ebbed and flowed, but eventually peace was settled among the major powers.   As a result of the Treaty of Utrecht, Charles had to renounce his claim to the Spanish throne; but the Catalans refused to give in.  They fought on in defence of whom they thought should be king, and in defence of their “constitutions” and “institutions”.  They were pushed back and encircled in Barcelona, with the inestimable absence of the British at this point, and finally gave in.  They plunged into a kind of Dark Ages under the iron-fisted rule of Castile from which they never recovered.  Their home rule rights were removed and their language suppressed.  Spring stopped coming; the sun failed to shine and God left.  But one day, that would all change.  They hoped.


More or less that was the idea. What were it true.


You see, it’s not that these events did not occur, or that the outcome was not more or less what Catalan nationalists lament.  Many did happen, and it’s unquestionable that the Catalans took a pretty severe punishing for their dauntless defence of their candidate; but the circumstances, the context and the reality were substantially different.  Here’s why:


  • Catalonia (and the kingdom of Aragon, to which it belonged) was not seeking independence by any stretch of the imagination.  It was defending a candidate to be king of a crown.  That, by default, means they were recognising the authority of the Spanish monarch.  Their reticence and posterior rejection of Philip had more to do with a fear of losing their rights to a person who came from an absolutist tradition.   What’s more, due to proximity and shared conflicts, there existed a real animosity between the two regions.  Having a Frenchman as a king did not go down well with many of the locals.


  • The, by now, famous Catalan “institutions” and “constitutions” were little more than the established political set-up for these regions, still officially kingdoms and principalities back then; for all intents and purposes, on their way out.  Castile was the rising power.  Plus, there was nothing especially unique about them.  Any structured community has them.  Aragon, Valencia, Navarra and the Basque Country had them.  My home state of Connecticut has a constitution and institutions.  What the hell…who doesn’t?


  • Castile was not out to get Catalonia.  There may been been some animosity in the past, but Philip was much more interested at first with guaranteeing his place on the throne.  It was afterward that his anger would be directed at those who attempted to topple him.  And to be fair, the region paid a heavy price for it.


  • Not all Catalans supported Charles.  In fact, it’s been proven that quite possibly the majority actually backed Philip even in the final days of the conflict.



The centralization of Spain was not just a Castilian thing, or at least in the way it’s looked at today; that is, a way to crush its neighbors, as revisionists prefer to see it.  At least, it was, but it wasn’t.  It’s a far more complex issue.  Castile had grown exponentially with the discovery of America; it had quite literally overextended itself, and the way things were set up during the Habsburg period, the kingdom(s) were in debt up to their necks.


Absolutism was a European phenomenon which had begun to take hold in many parts of the continent.  The French model had been by far the most successful to date (or did you actually think these regions did not exist in France.  Do Brittany, Normadie, Lorraine, Acquataine, etc. ring a bell?).  Philip sought to impose a system he was quite familiar with, the one where control was consolidated under one very strong and absolutist king.  It had worked for Louis XIV, why not him?  Yet unrestricted power was not just the only aim; there were some very practical reasons for doing so: the old way was terribly inefficient.  The Habsburgs had left the country in a total mess.  Philip and his ministers basically revamped the place inside and out, brought just about everything under a Madrid-centered fiscal and judicial control.  They also turned the military around and streamlined many once clumsy administrations.  And Spain as an empire, it must be said, for much of the 18th Century, enjoyed a kind of second youth.  Rights to trade with the new world were extended to all citizens of this modern Spanish state.


The Nueva Planta decrees, as the reforms were called, went further.  They endeavored to suppress Catalan language.  This is often cited as one of the greatest aggressions against Catalan culture.  It is undeniable that Spanish became the language of use for official documents, in certain instances it was subtituting Latin and not Catalan.  And Catalan did not disappear by any stretch of the imagination.  It was active on everyday levels; and let’s not forget that Spanish was already well rooted in that region two through natural means.  But we’ll get to that all on a different day.


Fastforward to the middle of the 19th Century, and the story begins to acquire different shades of meaning.  The authors behind the revisionist and romantic vision of the historical events arose when Catalonia, along with scores of regions in Europe experienced what came to be known as the nationalist renaissance, a period when regionalism became culturally significant.  In Spain, it happened in Galicia, in northwest Spain, and the Basque Country, too.  People began to fall in love rather nostalgically with everything theirs.    And anything that was missing was, well, just made up.


If that sounds a little far-fetched, consider this: the name of the Basque Country in their own language is “Euskadi”, a totally fictitious designation, a figment of the father of the cause’s imagination.  His name was Sabino Arana and he also came up with the current flag of the Basque Country known as the ikurriña, which was fashioned quite clearly (but also quite clearly flawed, if you ask me) after the British Union Jack.  Catalan symbols such as its flag, its dance, its patron saints, were all established in the final decades of the 19th Century. As was its history.  At least the one so often heard today.





The Catalan Chronicles: The War of the Spanish Succession and why you should care

I was flipping around the other day trying to find out what kind of information was available on the War of the Spanish Succession, and, to no surprise, there wasn’t much.  This is kind of a shame because this major conflict among European powers could rightly be considered to be the first world war in history.  Its outcome shaped the panorama for the continent for much of the 18th Century, and its consequences can still be felt to this day.  It was historic to say the least.  And yet no ones seems to give a crap about it.  Like so many things related to Spanish history, it tended to fall by the wayside.  It can get so frustrating.


The catalyst of the war, from whence it gets its name, was the death of King Charles II, who had passed away in 1701 without providing an heir.   Poor Charles had been the victim of what could be only described as the foreseeable consequences of rampant inbreeding taking place consensually within his greater family, the House of Austria (more popularly known as the Hapsburgs).  So much so that it seems Mother Nature finally took over and said something to the effect of, “you guys are cut off.”


What appeared to be a small victory for genetics, ended up a large debacle for the Spanish royal family…and much of Europe, now that we are on the subject.  DNA moves in such mysterious ways.  Since Charles had not sired anyone and was reading the writing on the wall, he felt pressed to choose someone from the family to take over, which, judging by the way the Hapsburgs had behaved in bed up to that point, could have been just about anyone from a royal family in Europe.  He originally thought of a nephew named Joseph Ferdinand, and the bid got the nod of approval from most European nations.  Alas, the young and future candidate died at the ripe old age of six, so clearly he was unfit for the job.


Charles then opted for Louis XIV’s grandson, Philip de Anjou (yet another nephew), to succeed him and it would appear the lad had a pretty solid case, which doesn’t mean he didn’t have his competitors.  You see, there was a lot more at stake than just determining who would sit atop the throne in Madrid.  This was a power struggle on a large scale. If the Bourbon family from France got into Spain, that could potentially upset the balance of power…a balance every country back then wanted tilted in their favor.  Though unquestionably going through a bit of a downspin at the time, Spain was still a major force in Europe, and also the gateway to much of America.  Getting your hands on the reins of the Iberian peninsula was an appetizing thought for an hungry leader.


The French, who also held vast portions of North America, were pumped.  Britain, Holland and the Habsburg Empire were not.  They did not take kindly to the new arrangement and wanted a say in the matter.  To begin with, they argued Archduke Charles of Austria was the rightful claimant to be the next monarch.  This kind of made sense because he was a Hapsburg, was also another nephew of Charles II, and had been promised this place of employment by his mother.  She had just forgotten to run it by the king.


Seeing that Charles II had specifically requested that Philip be his successor, there seemed little that could be done without a fight.  And fight they did.  The belligerents were Britain, Holland, Austria, Portugal (eventually), and a ton of principalities and duchies on one side, and basically France and Spain on the other.   The combatants dusted off their heavy coats, shined their swords, oiled their rifles and headed out to the battlefield.   The result was more than 10 years of war and nearly a million lives lost.  Despite what the name of the war might suggest, Spain was only one of the theaters of conflict. Battles raged in Italy, the Netherlands, Germany, as well as Portugal and Spain.  Just about everyone was moving pieces to take advantage of the power vacuum.  If anything, it was really a war about trying to keep Louis XIV at bay.  Spain was just the excuse.


But it was a highly significant conflict for this country too.  Philip V ended up becoming the first Bourbon to preside over Spain.  It came at a price, however.  In what came to be known as the Treaty of Utrecht, Philip had to sign an agreement renouncing any attempt to unite their kingdoms.  It stayed that way.  Spain also pretty much said goodbye to its foreign possessions in Europe.  The Spanish Netherlands were lost, as was the Kingdom of Naples, the Kingdom of Sicily, Sardinia and Milan.  To add insult to injury, it also had to cede Gibraltar and the island of Menorca to Great Britain.  The latter was returned, though annual occupation still exists by way of unbridled tourism; but Gibraltar remains a British territory, and it is still disputed to this day.


This war also saw the birth of Spain in its present format.  Back tehn it was known as the Crown of Spain.  It would seem that Philip wanted to follow in the footsteps of his French grandfather and do away with all this regionalism business. He wasn’t the only one; in addition to the absolutist grip Louis XIV had on his subjects, England had also taken this opportunity to unite its possessions under one leader.  It led to the creation of the United Kingdom.


The Bourbons have remained the heads of state in Spain for the most part ever since.   In fact, the next monarch to go by the name Philip is Philip VI, is the current king.  Over the past three centuries, it has been ousted several times and endured countless moments of internal strife, and yet here they still are.  It is safe to say that, if anything, the family certainly knows how to persevere.


As for the horrid existence of Charles II, you’d think his predicament would act as a deterrent for future aristocracy It didn’t seem to matter much.  Up until recently, the practice of marrying within the family, even if they were no longer kissing cousins, carried on at the upper realms.  Queen Elizabeth, her husband, Prince Philip, King Juan Carlos I of Spain and his wife, Sofía, are all descendents of Queen Victoria, for crying out loud.



The Catalan Chronicles: More Inconvenient Truths

A few years back, a Spanish comedy came out in theaters that would end up becoming the most popular film in this country’s history.  It was called Ocho Apellidos Vascos (Eight Basque Surnames) which is a reference to the sanguine purity of one’s origins.  An individual could not call themselves a true Basque if not all eight last names were Basque.  What does that mean exactly? How shall I explain this? You see, in Spain, a person has two last names; the first from the father and the second from the mother.  Each parent has two, totaling four.  So, following that system, if you go back and analyze each surname of all four grandparents and prove that they are all from Basque Country, then you are a true 100% native.  The movie was a sleeper blockbuster mainly due to the fact that it touched on so many previously thought taboo topics, like the Basque terrorist group, ETA.  A groundbreaking strip of celluloid, indeed.  It came to be the biggest hit at the box office ever, after Avatar.


It’s also a rather ordinary and overrated comedy, strickly speaking.   It’s fast-paced and quite cleverly done in spots, especially in the first hour, but it falls apart towards the end and becomes a kind of standard slapstick show that would entered the realms of oblivion had it not been for the groundbreaking subject matter.


Its popularity was so great that it caught the eye of the international entertainment world, and more than one producer even considered releasing it in other countries. There was just one problem: it was immensely difficult to understand abroad.  Many of the jokes were so inside they would go way over the heads of any foreigner but the most experienced.  One of the funniest moments for me is when Dani Rovira, the comedian who plays the posh young man from Sevilla, goes to the hometown of a Basque girl he’s fallen for, and says to her with his funny Andalusian accent, “What did you do to your hair, girl?”  It’s a cultural reference to the unorthodox way many Basque women, especially the radical ones wear their hair, but you would never come close to picking up on it without some pretty in depth knowledge of Spain.  Just it is tough to grasp much of what happens in this country when lacking all that is going on.


Spain, as we now know from its history, is chock full of cultures, the variety of which borders on stunning if you take into account its modest size.   All it takes is for one to cross the river bridge between Galicia and Asturias and even the houses look different. Drive from Navarra to Almeria in one day and you’ll be convinced you are in two different countries.   Spend a weekend in the city of Mérida and another in San Sebastian, and tell me what you think.  Planets apart.  So, when Catalan enthusiasts go on about how different and special their culture is, its their prerogative.  They’re absolutely on the mark.  They have a language, gastronomy, wine, music, traditional, arhitecture, etc. that are particular to their land.  Enough to warrant their forming their own nation.  After all, those are pretty much the ingredients anyone would need to claim sovereignty.


However, let’s consider some of the other  regions and see how they stack up against the rest of the country.


Regions with their own language: Catalonia, Valencia, Balearic Islands, Basque Country, Asturias, Leon (to a much lesser extent), Galicia, Aranese and Aragonese.  The big five are Spanish, Galician, Catalan, Basque and Valencian (which is really Catalan).


Regions with their own gastronomy: They all do.  Paella is from Valencia, gazpacho comes from Andalusia, Butifarra from Catalonia, seafood from Galicia, hake from the Basque Country, fabada from Asturias.  And that’s really the tip of the iceberg.  It’ can even be broken down into provinces.   Madrid has its cocido; thr black pudding from Burgos; the suckling pig and lamb from Segovia; the shrimp from Huelva; the turrón from Alicante.  It goes on and on. The same goes for its wine.  I wrote a book years ago on this very subject.  Someone told me I had done a book about Spanish wine, and I said that wasn’t true.  “I wrote a book about Spain through its wine.”


Regions with their own music:  Spain is world famous for its flamenco music. But that’s not all there is.  In Aragon, they have the jota, Madrid boasts its chotis, Galicia whirls around in a muiñeira, to mention a few.


Regions with their own architecture: One distinction these regions have are its country houses. Catalonia has its masías, Andalusia has its cortijos, Galician manors are known as pazos, Asturias has pretty indianos, and so on.


Regions with their own traditions: All of them. There are scores of them. It’s almost impossible to know where to start.


So, yes, once again, Catalans have every reason in the world to show off the many features that are so characteristic of their region.  But what in God’s name possesses them to believe that their culture is somehow so different from the other cultures of Spain that they deserve to form their own country is beyond me.







The Catalan Chronicles: Inconvenient Truths 1

Catalan separatists have long prepared a list of circunstances that provides irrefutable proof that they are a nation unto themselves and deserve beyond a shadow of a doubt to be a sovereign nation.  In the next set of posts, I will address several of the points to both confirm that they are basically true and that they are, for the most part, irrelevant in the context of Spain and Europe as a while.


One of the most commonly asserted descriptions of the region of Catalonia is that is a land with its own history. Thanks, so is Rhode Island.  What else can they say?


Catalonia’s history can be traced back to prehistoric times. It was an important trading region, we can see that commerce was important to these peoples even back then, for the Greeks and Romans. During the four hundred year presence of the Empire, Tarragona was unquestionably one of the most important cities in the Iberian Peninsula.  It has the capital of the massive swath of land that stretched across the north of Spain.  Later Catalonia fell under control of the Visigoths and afterwards the Muslims.  Once they had been expelled, the County of Barcelona started to take form and expanded into a region that would eventually be known as the Principality of Catalonia.


Having explained that, here’s what could be said about much of the rest of Spain.  It was inhabited by tribes since the stone age, was a major trading partner for the Phoenicians, the Carthiginians, the Greeks and Romans.  It also came under rule from the Sueves, Alans, Visigoths and Byzantines.  After the Muslim conquest in 711, many of the northern regions began to push the invaders back and created their own regions, a number of which developed into their own counties, duchies and even kingdoms.  Little by little they began to merge or fall under the influence of the kingdom with the greatest power, Castile, and would eventually become Spain.  If you want, I can go on to the rest of Europe and pretty much point out the same. Instead I’ll limit myself to specific cases in Spain.


Historical regions in Spain which could match, if not outdo, Catalonia in this category include:


Andalusia, which was arguably the most important region in ancient times.  Cadiz, founded by the Phoenicians, is currently the oldest continuously inhabited city in Europe.  Before that, the territory was run by Spain’s most successful pre-classical civilization, the elusive Tartessos.  Ironically, some Catalans claim Tartessos was actually located in their region over a thousand miles away.  Why?  Who knows.  Anyway, Andalusia was the port-of-call for the metal trade in Spain.  gold, silver and tin were of particular demand.  It was also from where wine, olive oil and women (this is true) were sent to the capital of the Roman Empire; Sevilla was the birthplace of the emperors Trajan and Hadrian, and Cordoba was where the philosopher Seneca first saw the day of light.  During the Muslim occupation, this city was considered by many to be the intellectual and scientific capital of Europe.  And after those lands were reconquered, by the Christans, four vassal kingdoms existed for many years.


Cartagena is the second most important city in the region of Murcia and its most important port.  It comes from the word Cartago Nova, or New Carthage.  It has been around since the times of Hannibal.  After the Muslims were removed, the territory became known as a vassal kingdom to the crown of Castile until 1812.


The region of Valencia was also a major region in ancient times.  The Carthaginians, Greeks and Romans often disputed commercial rights there.  In fact, it was the seige tha Hannibal laid on the city of Saguntum that triggered the Second Punic War.  The Kingdom of Valencia was formed in the 1230s, when Jaume forced the Muslim occupants out.  Hollywood immortalized this period in the movie El Cid.  It officially remained a kingdom until 1707.


Estremadura remains today to be a fairly rural part of Spain, it stands out, among other things, for porducing some of Spain’s finest cured ham.  Back in classical times it was home to one of the most important Roman cities in Spain, Emeritus Augusta (today Mérida).  It was a major stop on the precious metal trade route and founded as a home for veteran soldiers.


Galicia is the northwest of Spain also started out as a Roman province. The complete and massive walls around Lugo are testimony to that age. And it was its own kingdom off and on from about 400 AD until officially 1833. The city of Santiago de Compostela was the third most important pilgrimage site in all of Christianity, after Rome and Jerusalem.


Asturias earned a special spot in history for being the region which sparked the beginning of Christian Spain’s reconquering of their land from the dominance of the Muslims.  This was where their breakout began.  It was a kingdom in its own right until 910AD.


Leon took over from Asturias and became a major force in the Middle Ages. It was also its own kingdom and capital of the country from 910-1230.  Even after it joined Castile, its cities continued to be important and influential political and economic hubs well into the rise of the Spanish Empire.


Castile started out as a county, but by the 1o65 became a kingdom in its own right.  It later absorded many of its neighbors and become known as the Crown of Castile and essentially the source of the concept of modern day Spain.


The Basque Country was its own kingdom but is inhabited by such fiercely independent people, that no one seems to have ever fully subjected them.  Not even the Romans bothered to try.


The Kingdom of Navarre was a small but important kingdom in the Middle Ages.  You may recall Catherine of Navarre from your days of European History.  It was established in 824 and remained independent until the early 16th Century.  It didn’t officially disappear as an institution until 1841.


The Kingdom of Aragon took even greater prominence. It may be even more familiar with Catherine of Aragon, the first wife of Henry VIII, and his longest lasting spouse.  She managed to survive being beheaded and was quite possibly, though this may surprise you, admired by her humping-happy hubby.  Aragon was turned into a Crown and came to rule over parts of France, Italy, Greece, Spain (obviously) and Tunisia, as well as Andorra, the Balearic Islands, and, are you ready for this, the principality of Catalonia.  This is the truth that really irritates the Catalans.  They’ll jump and down and scream that their region was joined through marriage to the kingdom of Aragon and that both territories were agreed their own institutions of self-government.  That is absolutely true.  In fact, it’s an inconvenient truth for the traditional Spaniards.  But the name, the prestige and the power lay, and in increasing measures, in the crown of Aragon.


Even those vacation hot spots, the Balearic Islands, had their own Kingdom of Mallorca, which also managed to exist until 1715, when the War of Spanish Succession finally ended and the House of Bourbon took over, establishing the crown of Spain, essentially as we know it today.


So there you have it.  Catalonia unquestionably has its own distinct history, and one that it should be and is rightly proud of, but guess what? So does everyone else.  It’s a liutle secret they don’t want you to know about.  In fact, just about every other region in Spain has at one time or other been an independent kingdom of its own, except for Catalonia.  That’s what I call pretty damned ironic. If the pro-independence Catalans like to stick out from the crowd for being different, they could probably make a case for how little independent they really were when compared to their neighbors.  Over centuries, the principality belonged to Aragon, France and finally Spain.  Sure enough, they will tell you that they have had their own set of laws, their own government (the Generalitat), and so on, but so what?  Just about everyone else did too.  Does anyone else sense an inferiority complex here?  I do.


Despite what it may appear to be, this is no attempt to mock the importance of Catalonia, nor make fun of its past.  Its people have every right to feel proud of it.  What I question is its use as a way of making a distinction between it and the rest of Spain, when its the rest is of Spain which is equally, if not more deserving, of that distinction.  This is what Spain is.  A nation of nationalities.


The world out there is frightfully ignorant of those facts.

La Soledad de Ser Un Roscón de Reyes

Ya estamos de nuevo. Al lado de mi casa hay una pastelería que dicen que elabora posiblemente el mejor roscón de Madrid, reputación que provoca una avalancha de clientes del barrio, y de más allá, cada 5 y 6 de enero.  Hasta la tele hace una visita anual para realizar su reportaje sobre este lugar mítico y entrevistar a los clientes que soportan colas kilométricas y largos ratos en la calle en todo tipo de tiempo (este año ha tocado el mejor regalo que los vecinos de Madrid podríamos desear: la lluvia).  Es una pastelería de primera, no cabe duda, pero su roscón…no sé yo.  Es un roscón muy tradicional, pero mucho; de esos que te dejan diciendo, “Madre mía. ¿Qué hago con esto?”


A pesar de tenerlo tan cerca durante años, nunca había comprado uno hasta hace una semana cuando tenía que llevar algo a una merienda navideña y opté por uno pensando que el momento había llegado.   Entré en la casa de mis amigos anunciando lo que había traído, su procedencia, y la fama que tenía para quedar de puta madre con mis ellos y limar comentarios por si era una mierda porque, ya sabes, cuando sirves algo de supuesta alta calidad, la gente suele pensar que algo ha fallado con su paladar antes de pensar en el producto.  Y así fue.   Al probarlo, lo masticaban y reflexionaban antes de pasar sentencia.  “Hombre,” empezó uno.  Pero de repente paró para intentar tragar y así dejar de hablar Jabba the Hutt.   “Está bueno.  Muy bueno. Lo que pasa es que a mí me gusta mojarlo en café o chocolate.”


Los demás que también carecían de la saliva suficiente para articular palabras se limitaron a asentir con la cabeza.


¡Mentira! ¡Mójate, tú, hombre!  No me vengas con historias.  Estaba más seco que un vaso de cal.  ¿Qué te esperabas cuando coges un pan normal, le privas de toda humedad, le adornas con unos copitos de azúcar, frutos azucarados y le bautizas con un nombre majestuoso? Pero daba igual.  El fenómeno rosconero sigue.  Es uno de los grandes misterios del sector pastelero.  El puesto elevado en el ranking que tiene este bollo disfrazado deja perplejos a muchos.  A mí incluido.  Lo que pasa es que no está de moda reconocerlo.


Pero os aseguro que hay una minoría, posiblemente una mayoría, silenciosa ahí fuera.  Y no solo vive en Cataluña.  He notado que están deseando salir del armario, pero necesitan un empujoncito.  Yo no digo nada, Dios me libre, porque basta con que critique algo para que el patriota dentro de cada uno de ellos sale y empieza a alardear sobre las cualidades sin paralelo de la tarta.  “Cualidades sin paralelo” suspiro.  “Nunca mejor dicho.”  Pero claro, cualquiera se lo dice.


No. Así no se hace. Hay que esperar.  Hay que hablar de diferentes roscones en diferentes sitios y dejar que salga todo de manera natural. Hasta alabarlo.  Normalmente, unos minutos después, uno de mis oyentes me interrumpe y dice, “Es que el roscón a mí…” y lo sigue con una mueca que manifesta sus verdederos sentimientos hacia la sosa masa cocida. Continúa. “Es que no es mis preferidos…”


¡Ahí está! Oigo en mi cabeza la voz de un comandante ficticio gritar.  “Brian! The eagle has landed! ¡Al ataque!”  A partir de entonces se abre una mesa redonda sobre el tema, y a los pocos minutos unas seis o siete personas empiezan a confesar que el roscón, sin ser horrible, no convence mucho si no tiene un poco de chocolate o nata.  Es decir…sabor.  En resumen, se convierte en una sesión de terapia. Les aseguro a todos que pueden seguir hablando y estar tranquilos.  “Todo se quedará dentro de estas paredes.”


Se relajan.  “No sabemos qué es lo que les falta…”


“Finura.” Les ayudo.  “La que tiene un pandoro, por ejemplo.”


“¡Eso es!”


No tiene más.  Y no soy el primero en opinar así. Hace años escuché por la radio a Gomaespuma hacer un sketch sobre los reyes magos que iban a hacer huelga ese año en parte porque no aguantaban el roscón. En sus palabras, “Es tan seco que no hay quien le hinque el diente.”


Sin embargo, la popularidad de esta tarta, paradójicamente, se ha disparado en los últimos años. Exponencialmente.  Y lo que era un “one time deal”, es ahora un constante.  Cada año sacan los roscones con más antelación.  Antes de Reyes; antes de Año Nuevo; antes de Navidad.  Vale para cualquier motivo, cualquier ocasión.  Y cuando llegan estos últimos días de las fiestas, la cosa se nos va de las manos. Una auténtica explosión.  Roscones por doquier.  Y de todo tipo. Sin relleno, con relleno de nata (mucho más recomendable), relleno de chocolate, trufa, cabello de ángel, etc.   Y para acompañarlo, sidra achampañada para hinchar el estómago, o chocolate espeso para simplificar matarte directamente.


La masacre de estos pobres doughnuts es incesante.  Hay familias que comen uno la noche del cinco, otro para desayunar al día siguiente, otro después de comer y otro para merendar.  Y siempre cabe la posibilidad de que llegue para cenar un amigo de la familia con otro de trufa amantequillada, para no ser menos, por supuesto.  La mayoría remata el día con un eructo suprimido y un “Jo. Creo que me he pasado estos días.”


Las colas para entrar en las pastelerías son más largas, los precios más injustificables y los tamaños son tejanos.  Justo ayer vi a dos vecinos entrando en el portal, sujetando cada uno un extremo de una caja que medía más que Pau Gasol. Dije, “¡Qué suerte! ¿A quién le ha tocado una pantalla HD?”


“¿Qué dices? Ni pantalla, ni leches. Es un roscón.” Contesta uno.


“Madre mía. La próxima vez pide a Amazon Prime que os lo mande.  ¿Vais a poder con todo esto?”


“Claro.  Y mañana otro.” Contesta el otro con orgullo. Porque Dios nos libre de tomar sobras. Hay que tener uno nuevo para cada ocasión o eres un agarrado.  Nada engorda tanto como los bolsillos de los pasteleros.


De todas formas, debo reconocer que tengo mucho cariño al roscón.  Por ser cómo es y por no tener complejos.   Tengo debilidad por los del súper, los que cuestan poco y que tienen una masa que se parece a la de una tarta.  Me reprocha un amigo, “¡Anda! Esos no saben a roscón!”


“Lo sé. Por eso me gustan.” No me atrevo a añadir que también me gusta ese chocolate de brik. Hay uno que me ha seducido porque ganó el premio 2017 para el “Sabor del Año”, lo cual me fascinó.  Sabor del Año. Y no en una delicada loncha de jamón de bellota, sino en un litro de chocolate industrial. Los misterios de estas fechas no dejan de sorprenderme.


Asumo las limitaciones de este bollo glorificado, y disfruto de él como cualquiera…que es lo que uno debe hacer con todo en la vida.  Feliz Año.











The Catalan Chronicles: Clouds

If Joni Mitchell had written a song about Catalan separatism, the lyrics might have gone something like this:


I’ve looked at democracy from both sides now, from up and down, and still somehow, it’s democracy’s illusions I recall; I really don’t know democracy at all.


Absolutely. No questions about it.  It doesn’t cease to amaze me how two diametrically opposed sides can actually base their defence on essentially the same argument: democracy and democratic ideals.


The democractic ideal the separatists are talking about is the right to self-determination; the right to vote; the right to decide one’s future.  It forms the cornerstone of any serious civilization.  The pro-sovereignty band centers its appeal for international support on the argument that the Spanish government is denying them that very basic entitlement.  In short, “we just want to vote, and they won’t let us.”   And, Lord knows, on October 1st, we the world actually got to witness the extremes to which the cental government was willing to go in order to deprive the citizens of Catalonia of that very fundamental prerogative which should be available to all citizens.  The separatists were right.  It sounded irrefutable.  It sounded perfect.  It sounded like something Patrick Henry would scream, “stick it to the bastards!” to.  Who wouldn’t support them, damn it?


The central government, on the other hand, resorts to the notion of democracy when trying to dismantle the entire independence movement.  In fact, they tend to justify their whole defence by acting in the name of democracy.  They assert that when you steamroll a popular majority with an agenda that will remove them from the country they want to belong, it is equally undemocratic, and you have to admit they have a point there.  They also insist that they are defending the constitution, which is a legal manifestation of the democratic framework they all agreed to. And it’s valid too.


Is it possible that they are both right?  It is, but it ain’t easy.


You see, every time the Catalans request a referendum, they get handed a copy of the constitution they overwhelmingly voted for (that is, democratically) and are told to open to the Page 1.  “Read and weep,” say the constitutionalists.  “You see, here’s the part where it unequivocally states that Spain is one nation and that it’s indivisible and indissoluble, and that you agreed, supported and swore to uphold and respect?  Do you have any further questions?”


The indissoluble part is easy for the separatists to sidestep because they can always say, “Spain doesn’t have to be dissolved.  It can exist as long as it wants. We just aren’t going to be a part of it.”  But the first word, you know, the tiny part about Spain being “indivisible”, is a little trickier.


The only way for them to get around it, if they are to stick to playing by the rules, which they hardly do, is to find a way to show that the constitution had somehow failed them, that it is being used to violate their rights and that it is not the charter they had ratified.  Spirit had disappared.  The love was gone.  They needed what is commonly called a reason. Or, in other words, an excuse.


Enter the Estatut of 2006.  As most of you will not recall, so I will refresh your memories, the constitutional framework of Spain was set up in such a way that the central government would formalize written agreements with the separate Comunidades Autónomas, on a region to region basis.  The divisions were mainly determined by historical justification.  I have always thought, with the greatest of humility mind you, this was a compromise from the post Franco period that was destined for disaster, and I think that history is proving me right.


The first modern Estatuto was passed in 1979 and it gave Catalonia plenty of the powers the constitution had promised it would.  But barely twenty years had gone by when there were grumblings by the nationalists (that’s what the future separatists were called back then) that the situation was unbearable. Not enough powers, not enough competences, not enough control, not enough recognition.  A new accord, a more up-to-date covenant, needed to be reached between the two if they were to live in harmony.  So one was presented to the Spanish parliament, analyzed, interpreted and reworded in hundreds of places and finally sent to both houses for a vote.  It passed in both despite the vociferous objections of two very strange bedfellows: the PP, who felt the documents were infested with unconstitutional issues (and they were probably right), and the left-wing ERC, a republican party clearly in favor of independence, who deemed the document a joke and an insult to those sought total and complete separation from the  rest of Spain.  And they were right too. But in the latter’s case, they abstained in the senate vote in order to ensure the estatuto went through because, as you know, a bad estatuto is better than none at all.


The approved accord was handed over to the Catalans themselves for a referendum.  Apparently there are referendums and referendums, and this was the kind that you could hold in this country.  Turnout suggested the locals were less than enthusiastic about the whole deal to begin with.  Final participation was an anemic 49.4%, of which, about 74% said yes.  Doing the math gives you a paltry 37% of the entire Catalan population had actively manifested itself in favor of the proposal.  And that’s if we round it up.  So, when Mr. Puigdemont refers to the famous Estatuto which had been proposed, passed in parliament and ratified in Catalonia as proof that democracy had sided with him and his cause, we can rest assured that he is leaving out some pretty important details.


The Catalan president also asserted that the Constitutional Court’s decision to declare 14 articles of the   Estatuto unconstitutional to be an affront to democracy.  I’m not making it up.  He literally says that in his speeches, so I’m merely drawing from that source.  Why? The estatuto had already been drawn, voted on and passed.  It was essentially undemocratic, when not altogether illegal, to obtain in a judge’s chambers what could not be obtained in the voting booth.  While it can be argued rather successfully that the PP was just acting in response to its defeat in parliament, it’s also true that Puigdemont chooses to ignore the fact there is a safety switch inherent in any solid democratic design known as “checks and balances”, which is there to ensure none of the three branches of government can fully run the show.  The constitutional court exists for that very reason.  It reviews laws, accords, agreements, and lower court cases, when it is asked to do so, and decides on its constitutionality.  No serious democracy can live without it.  Anyone with any basic knowledge of political science is familiar with this.


I will avoid an in-depth analysis of the points under dispute because, A) I am not an expert in Spanish constitutional law and B) the subject could take up the space of an entire book itself.  Suffice it to say that, given the extensive length of the agreement (over 200 articles involving an incredibly wide range of issues), chances are somewhere a conflict of interest with the constitution would arise.


Not so surprisingly, the issue that got the most headlines was the use of the word “nation” to describe Catalonia.  The constitution describes Spain as “one indissoluble nation made up of nationalities”.  The Catalans preferred to be called a “nation”.  The court said that was an unncessary distinction. And neighboring regions complained that the Catalans were trying to gain a status of preference over the other comunidades autónomas.   And the PP feared this was a way of allowing another symbolic step towards declaring independence one day.  After all, if Spain was admitting as much, then they should have the right to be their own country.  Critics of that position claim that if the PP had let things alone, hadn’t ruffled any feathers, everything would have been fine.  But that’s a highly debatable argument.


But there is no question that it aggravated the situation immensely.  When the Constitutional Court sided with the PP party, all hell broke loose.  It was time, said the Catalans, to break free.  The excuse had arrived.


If you are asking yourself if this insane current clash in Spain is partially the result of a war of semantics, an almost childish bickering over “nation” and ” nationality”, you’re right.  As incredible as it may seem, you’re right.  You’re right, I say.




The Catalan Chronicles: Seriously

Now that it was clear that Puigdemont was not going to spill the beans and confirm or deny the current status of Catalonia, you could sure as hell bet he wasn’t going to rescind on whatever it was he did or didn’t do.  Or at least that’s what I thought.  But, in fact, in his second missive, he shed a little more light on the subject.  It was briefer, God bless him, and it opened with some bizarre reference to how participation numbers (which could never be verified) were greater than the minimum required by the United Kingdom in its Brexit vote.  This was done to add credibility to the results of his illegal referendum.  Of course, what another country decides on its own procedures has nothing to do with anything, but the fact that a formal leader of anything or anyplace feels they can use it as irrefutable proof of legitimacy is both half comical and half disturbing. Anyway, moving on, Puigdemont went on to talk about his continued desire for dialog because, as he asserted, “I got the votes, sugar, and you know it.  So let’s sit down and talk.”  If he didn’t, the president would have to remove the suspension of the semi-declared independence and make formal the decision he had not voted on…yet.  Or something to that effect.  Uh…Ok…


“Let’s keep them in the dark on this one. It’s going to really piss them off,” he must have surely whispered to his supporters as they toasted with the some cava, which is the Spanish form of the champagne, but a hell of a lot cheaper.  That bottle of Freixenet that you snatch up at the liquor store checkout counter for next to nothing is one of them.  Cava is an institution in Catalonia and the sparkling wine of choice for the rest of Spaniards who, as a rule, don’t like to shell out a lot for their alcohol so champagne is normally out of the question.


As opposed to other winer appellations in Spain, cava does not know geographical limits.  It can be made anywhere in the country as long as the producer adheres to the specific making method and pays the annual fee that allows it to be called it such.  Catalonia is by far the largest producer of the cava; the two are practically synonymous.   But others have begun to make their presence known over the past few years.  One region that has grown in popularity is Extremadura, which is ironic because the two, at first glance, appear as culturally opposed as two zones can get.  Sophisticated northeast Spanish coast vs. The backwards western countryside.  Well, in keeping with the saying, “every cloud has a silver lining”, the winemakers in Extremadura clench their fists in victory every time the Catalans do something to further irk the Spanish market, which is pretty much all the time these days, because they reap the benefits of the fallout.  You can guarantee the Catalan producers are shaking in their boots at the prospect of a catastophic Christmas campaign.


So Rajoy, who by this time must have been kicking his cat on a daily basis and screaming down the halls of the Palacio de Moncloa (the Spanish version of the White House) “This guy is driving me nuts!”, had the chance to have a chat with his opponent.  Maybe it was the moment to find out what this was all about before he lost for his country 20% of its GNP.  You had the feeling that Puigdemont was suggesting that he really wasn’t in favor of independence at all, but was just using his massive support as political clout to tell the Spanish government to stop screwing around with the Estatut, or autonomy agreement made between the Spanish government and Catalonia.    If that was true, he was making a big mess of things, because a lot of people were now banking on him to lead them to the promised land.  And if independence was he final objective and all he was trying to do was biding some time, then the Spanish government was right to be suspicious of his true intentions.  But there was no doubt, the opening for a negotiated way out had apparently arisen.


So, Rajoy returned from a congress in Brussels of European leaders, made his way to the press room and gave his response, which, no matter how you look at it, was certainly up front and to the point: you’re all fired.  We’ll be taking over from here, once I get senate approval, and we’ll vote on this within the next six months.  See you at the polls.


In other words, he had formally activated Article 155 on Saturday, October 21.


Well, as you can imagine, the separatists had a field day with this.  They were all crying “coup d’etat” this and “Franco” that.   Essentially, this was the end of the good life as we know it.   Meanwhile, Puigdemont announced he would be making a formal announcement on TV that evening, and I just knew what that meant.  He was going to do it.  This was it.  He promised he would.  I had a dinner party to go to but told my friends that I would be attending on one condition only, “as long as I can watch your country fall apart live.  And don’t worry, I’ll bring the wine.”


That evening, the leader went on the air and gave his impression of the Spanish government’s move to send him to the unemployment office. He expressed his disappointment and frustration at the central government’s resistance to talk and reiterated that he had only been looking for dialogue and a solution to a problem he had basically started. I couldn’t quite figure out what about Rajoy’s decision that had caught him off guard. He had basically told everyone that was what he was going to do.   Anyway, he spoke in Catalan, and presented the usual grievances.  The Catalan institutions had been violated, that never since the days of Franco had such a thing occurred, that the constitution had not been respected (by him, he forgot to add), and that the Catalan people would no longer put up with it.  This of course was just what the separatists wanted to hear, so there were no surprises so far.


Then he did pull something out of his hat.  He spoke in Spanish, of all things.  He addressed the Spaniards and tried to instil fear in them by warning that what was happening to them could happen to any Spaniard at any time; that democracy was risk.  After that, he went further, and spoke English. I believe this is a first in the history of Spanish TV, and spoke directly to Europe and gave them the old democracy spiel again, the right to determine their future, called Catalonia an ancient nation, ended with a perplexing thought: “you should know that what you are fighting for at your home, we are also fighting for in Catalonia. And we will continue to do so.”  So it was all about rights and defending rights.  What Mr. Puigdemont had omitted was the fact he represented a land where in the most recent election the majority had voted against pro-independence parties.  What about their rights?  Was he, as the leader of their region, fighting for them?  Apparently, everyone has the same rights, but some people have more rights than others.  Orwell would have enjoyed this immensely.


After that, I let go a mental drumroll as I awaited the big moment. After all, he had stalled on three previous occasions, the Spanish said they were going yank him from office, there must a sliver of defiance within him. Ladies and genetlemen…the next president of Catalonia…Carles Puigdemont! Or something like that. The next two words deviated a great deal from that expectation: good night.


Good night, was right.  I give up.





The Catalan Chronicles: A little Help Please

On October 11th, Prime Minister Rajoy’s administration firmly requested that Puigdemont kindly respond to the following question: did you in fact declare independence?  After the bizarre performance the day before in the Catalan parliament, no one seemed to know.  The president of the region had five days to reply.  The following Monday, just an hour before the deadline was up, the Catalan leader sent his answer.  He wasn’t especially concise about it.  In no fewer than 650 words, Puigdemont verbosely said nothing.


Instead, he returned to much of the rhetoric he and his supporters had been using for the previous couple of months, pointing out why Catalonia deserved independence and sidestepped the “declaration” issue by placing emphasis on all that he had been doing to find a solution to the confrontation.  It was his intention to seek dialogue in order to reach an agreement, at the behest of requests made by sources from Catalonia, Spain and the rest of the international community.  The purpose was clear in my opinion.  The president of the regional government wanted to gain time and hopefully sympathy from people abroad as well as provide proof that the only one who was really being level-headed and sincerely making an effort was him and that it was Spain who was being unreasonable.


That was an understandable strategy, but flawed for a number of reasons.


First of all, much of the international community, regardless of what was ablaze on the social networks, had already made up its mind about the situation.  At least the ones who call the shots.  Catalonia was not an independant nation and would not be recognized.  As long as the Spanish stopped bashing heads, there would be no interference.  Puigdemont did not seem to understand or accept this. His only real ally was Belgium, of all places, but we’ll get to that at another time.  Still, the separatists were desperate for recognition.  The success of their campaign rested on it.  Just a little help, was all they needed. But all was quiet.


Secondly, no one could quite understand what the “dialog” part was all about.  Essentially he was saying that he was going to lead Catalonia in its path to sovereignty, but was up for sitting down and chatting about it with the prime minister whenever he was ready.  Everything was negotiable.  Puigdemont was once again being wishy-washy and sending totally mixed signals.  If his end game was get a little more autonomy for Catalonia, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.  If he was determined to see the Catalan independence through, just what was there to discuss?


On the other hand, the Spanish government, for better or for worse, had established its position and rallied its allies.  There would be no discussions until the Catalan government officially declared that it had not declared independence and had abandoned its campaign to separate. That was the starting point.  There was considerable criticism from many who said that this very intransigence was pushing the nation down the road of utter catastrophe.  I think that the government had no choice but to dig in at this point.  It had accused the separatists of breaking just about every law except for jaywalking.  It was no longer in the position to relent and negotiate with them.  Its big mistake was that it had waited so long to draw the line.  Now it was hanging onto unity by a toe nail, and looking bad too.


Of the entire letter of of reply, nothing stood out as surprising to me as the word “debilidad”.  That is, Puigdemont argued that his actions from the previous week should not be seen as a sign of “weakness” but as a show of moderation and goodwill towards resolving the confrontation.  Now, I don’t know about you, but as I see it, the very appearance of the word should be regarded as regrettable from the separatists’ point of view, because the fact that they even mentioned it means that they themselves may have felt that way, or were aware, at the very least, of the possibility they had given that impression.  And they had.  Basically they confirmed for much of the world that they had blown the opportunity of a lifetime the week before, and were trying to fix.  That only made it worse.


If a lughead like me can pick up on it, the Rajoy administration must have jumped for joy.  It easily saw it as proof of growing indecision amongst the independent Catalans, which merely encouraged it to tighten its position.  Now, with both sides fully committed and really no room to back down and save face at the same time…they put on their crash helmets and braced themselves for the big crash.


All I can say is thank God these guys were not heading the Cuban Missile Crisis.