Touched and enraged.
The world is playing the dumb pantomime of the Libyan tragicomedy, an absurd and grotesque game of pretence, a plot scattered with false joys, black lies and stinky information. In the meantime, Spain has on the table its own long-term tragedy, served in a cold-dish of shear treason. Eta just announced it won’t kill again… Ever. Apart from politicians and a few emotional demonstrations like that of one known, though little, media character –sad, sad, cheesy, and immensely frivolous show-, the normal guy remains astonished, with no mood whatsoever for any spark of joy.
Rooted in the heart of us Spaniards is the spirit of Sancho Panza and his wife, a gullible force of innocence, but loaded with a fine sense of suspicion ready to exert its mechanism when the moment comes. And time has arrived. Nobody believes this. The truth is horrendous. Although the BBC and major international media has succumbed for years to the siren chants of these ETA motherfuckers and have presented the case as a political conflict (indeed, there is not such case, but brutal terrorism), Eta is not finished nor repented. The announcement has been conveyed by three sons-of-a-bitch covering his identity. There is no surrender; there is no handing-over of weapons, documents or internal plans forever given in. There is no apology. The thing seems, however, oh, terrible woe!, a fulfilled agreement happily progressing for the last 12 years between politicians and Eta.
Fortunately, every Sancho Panza has his alter ego, and waits for his knight to come. The armor and spurs of Don Quixote echo through the land, and all the bustle of his tired pack-horse, Rocinante, comes along.
Fracisco Javier Alcaraz is our hero, our Don Quixote today. He is one of the outstanding figures against the totalitarian violence of Eta. Like poor Dulcinea (Quixote’s sweetheart, a plain peasant, friends with the pigs and of garlic breath), Mamen became the partner of Francisco after a turbulent previous relationship and brought her two children with her. She works in a fishmonger’s shop, with no more than basic studies. Francisco himself is a hairdresser (though successful) and could not even complete the Secondary Education. But since December 11, 1987 when Eta killed (among a total of 11 and dozens of wounded) Esther and Miriam, his twin nieces of only 3 years of age, and his younger brother of 17, he became, after surviving the annealing fire of sorrow and nihilism, one of the leaders of the “civic rebellion” and embraced and expanded the hopes and senses of all decent Spaniards.
There are only a few impressive exceptions among the politicians, but no one like Francisco has attracted as much hope and people (and hatred, of course). He is the hero of our time, the stumbling rock slowing down the betrayal to our nation. He has carried with him the voices of the common people, of all the victims than become heroes.
When I think of it, I find place for hope and victory. The Spanish knights, our Don Quixotes, are taunts and tricks of destiny, naughty wild-cats defying Satan’s fate, genuine and unafraid. They are pixels of light and goodness, gifts among the vast, choking weed of our countries.
Please, God, bless them! You know they are ready to fight… They want to fight!
Give them (give us all) a chance.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
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