Wow... already 1 year ago...
I remember it like it was yesterday. As everyone, I heard in the morning, of what happened, but not of the magnitude, but as the body count was rising, and more and more information and images became available it was claer it wasn't just a 'normal' ETA car bomb.
It shook the country, and for me personally it took me almost 2 days before I heard from everyone, that I was more or less certain of were in Madrid at the time.
Everyone was ok, but I got the most incredible stories. One girl has her office opposite of the station where it happened, so she was in the middle of everything. Another had taken a different train that day, and thus survived, the next was telling me about the chaos in the whole city, and the third was just out of it.
None could believe or imagine the magnitude of what had just happened. In their homes basically.
The whole country was mobilised in an instant. Demonstrations took place everywhere, and mainly directed against the government, mainly for keeping the public in the dark.
I was and still am worried about the developments that could lead from this. If it was ETA as the government said, it would only polarise the country into the extreme, and if it was related to the war in Iraq, a further polarisation and antagonism would take place towards muslims and the Islam. No matter what, we were fucked...
After a draining 48 hrs, after talking with many friends, things started to materialise.
The day after a memorial demonstration was organised in the center of Copenhagen, at 7 pm, as in every major city in Europe. I went there with Manu, a guy from Madrid, that was living in my place at the time. He had been quite shaken up by it all, and being there on that square just made the tears flow.
In the early morning I had gotten an email from Angel, a Spanish friend who lives in Coopenhagen, about the demonstration that was going to be organised. He had gotten the mail from one of the organisers, so I was still early in the chain. Obviously I forwarded it to everyone I knew, and at night around 350 gathered. I had to smile at that, as the Spanish are unparalleled in word of mouth communication. So many gathered in a country far away from their homes.
Candles were lit, banners were unfolded, everyone stood in prayer, silent... hurting, crying, bitter, angry, not comprehending the 'reason' behind such an act.
We just focussed on one thing: PAZ, PEACE, VREDE, FRED, FRIEDEN... nothing more, nothing less...
En el corazon 
Later all started counting, counting until 191... 1 count for every human that had died in this horrible bombing.
As we counted out loud, no face remained untouched, and when we reached the final number everyone was crying, some of the most intense emotional things I have ever witnessed. I am not into this collective mourning thing, that seems to gain foothold more and more, but it was quite impressive what happened here.
It seemed though that the most frustrating thing was that nobody really knew in which direction to direct their anger, hurt and agony.
The government was still lying their asses off, and blaming ETA, and nobody believed them or wanted to believe them. So, when the elections came 3 days later, the government was wiped away. People showed they were tired of their lies and being ignored, being put in danger.
Being on that square with a couple of hundred Spaniards, far away from their homes, it was was nonetheless a very educating experience on the relations and tensions between people from various parts of the country, and of different political convictions.
One guy angered everyone though, he started screaming all kinds of slogans, and even reached back to Franco age bullshit.
The reactions to that last thing were amazing, I have rarely seen such ferociousness on people's faces, such anger.
It was so obvious that so many issues that date back many many years have never been resolved properly, never been dealt with in an open manner; like the way Germany has come to terms with their past, staring into its self-inflicted wounds.
Oooof, there is still a lot of work to do in coming to terms with their recent history.
Fortunately the guy was taken away by the police, as he started to threaten people around him with a knife. Especially focussing on some people who had also brought a Basque flag. These people were the center of attention anyway, as it still was unclear whether ETA was behind the attack, and the fact the Basque 'issue' is yet far from being resolved.
Their intentions were clear though, these people simply wanted to say that even though they have the Basque background, they are Spanish nonetheless and they wanted to show that not every Basque is an ETA member.
It was cold, it was dark and it should never have happened... I am still a hopeless romantic at times, thinking such things should never take place, never fully understanding the blind rage that drives people to do such things, instead of live together and make the best out of the time that is given us here, letting our children grow up in bliss and harmony...
What is that self-destructive streak in human kind? Why is it that we always have to destroy what has been built up? I don't think we'll ever get an answer to that....
Don't know what to say... To everyone there, maybe the most obvious song to choose, but I love his music, and the lyrics say it all...
Joaquin Sabina - Yo me bajo en atocha Con su boina calada, con sus guantes de seda,
su sirena varada, sus fiestas de guardar,
su vuelva usted mañana, su salvese quien pueda,.
Su partidita de mus, su fulanita de tal.
Con su todo es ahora, con su nada es eterno,
con su rap y su chotis, con su okupa y su skin,
aunque muera el verano y tenga prisa el invierno
la primavera sabe que la espero en Madrid.
Con su otoño Velázquez, con su Torre Picasso,
su santo y su torero, su Atleti, su Borbón,
sus gordas de Botero, sus hoteles de paso,
Su taleguito de hash, sus abuelitos al sol.
Con su hoguera de nieve, su verbena y su duelo,
su dieciocho de julio, su catorce de abril.
A mitad de camino entre el infierno y el cielo...
yo me bajo en Atocha, yo me quedo en Madrid.
Aunque la noche delire como un pájaro en llamas,
aunque no dé a la gloria la Puerta de Alcalá,
aunque la maja desnuda cobre quince y la cama,
aunque la maja vestida no se deje besar,
"Pasarelas Cibeles", cárcel de Yeserías,
Puente de los Franceses, tascas de Chamberí,
ya no sueña aquel niño que soñó que escribía,
Corazón de María, no me dejes así...
Corte de los Milagros, Virgen de la Almudena,
chabolas de uralita, Palacio de Cristal,
con su "no pasarán" con sus "vivan las caenas",
su cementerio civil, su banda municipal.
He llorado en Venecia,
me he perdido en Manhattan,
he crecido en La Habana, he sido un paria en París,
México me atormenta, Buenos Aires me mata,
pero siempre hay un tren
que desemboca en Madrid.
Pero siempre hay un niño que envejece en Madrid,
pero siempre hay un coche que derrapa en Madrid,
pero siempre hay un fuego
que se enciende en Madrid,
pero siempre hay un barco que naufraga en Madrid,
pero siempre hay un sueño
que despierta en Madrid,
pero siempre hay un vuelo de regreso a Madrid.
My thoughts are with you...
