Cataluña or Catalunya?

The official Catalan flag - La Senyera (L) and the Catalan independence flag - La Estelada

This Saturday just gone was a “historic day” in Cataluña, according to just about every media source I read or tuned into. Of course, which sense of “historic” depended very much on the news source and, clearly, which side of the fence they sit on regarding Cataluña’s derecho a decidir (right to decide) its future within, or not, Spain.

You see, the Catalan President (Premier), Artur Mas, signed into law the Ley de Consultas – the law authorising a referendum in Cataluña on independence from Spain, that he plans to celebrate on November 9 this year.

The referendum countdown clock - installed in the Plaça St Jaume.
On the left it reads "Now is the Time"

The central government in Madrid has flatly refused the referendum on the grounds that it would be unconstitutional for Cataluña to vote unilaterally on independence. And indeed, today, the Consejo de Ministros (Spain’s Cabinet) are meeting with the sole purpose of taking the Catalan law to the Constitutional Court, which will paralyse it until a decision is made. A callejón sin salida (dead-end alley), as those opposed to the independence push say? Well, we’ll have to see.

You could say that symbolically, all the planets had aligned to bring us to Saturday’s “historic” event. On September 11, Cataluña celebrated its “national” day, La Diada”.  This day commemorates the fall of Barcelona in 1714 to the Franco-Spanish forces of the Bourbon king Felipe V at the end of the War of Spanish Succession.

The Catalans had chose the losing side in the war, but their defeat (and their resistance during the Siege of the city) ended up forging a stronger Catalan national identity - sort of like Gallipoli for Australians, I guess.

(As a side-note, I can’t help noticing that Spain’s new Bourbon king (yes Spain’s monarchs are still Bourbons) is Felipe VI… Spooky.)

One of the many huge billboards erected in the centre of Barcelona by the Town Hall,
celebrating the Tricentenary of the Siege of Barcelona. It reads "Live Free"

This year is the 300^th anniversary of the end of the Siege, and with the independista fervour generated over the last year and a bit by Artur Mas’s centre-right nationalist government (supported by their political opposites in just about any other matter except the push for independence, the left-wing republicans Esquerra Republicana) the turnout for the celebrations was massive – the biggest ever. 

1.6 million people, according to the police, converged on Barcelona. Dressed in red and yellow – the colours of the Catalan flag - they took up their positions on two of the city’s main arteries, the Gran Via and the Diagonal, forming a gigantic V for Vota (Vote) that stretched for 11 km. It was quite a sight. 

Part of the V. Pic: Josep Carpintero, Asemblea.cat. CC license

(For fairness, I should note that the central government put the figure at 480,000. Here in Spain though, you generally have the absurd situation where organisers of demonstrations dramatically over-estimate attendance and the government dramatically underestimates the same, so you usually have to go for a middle figure, although in this I’m tempted to go with the police.)

More of the V. Pic: Josep Carpintero, Asemblea.cat. CC license

All this was just a week out from Scotland’s referendum on independence from the UK. The vote was followed with bated breath here in Cataluña and the rest of Spain and although the result obviously disappointed the Catalan independistas, they quickly turned it around to celebrate the fact that the Scottish were at least given the opportunity to vote.

Towers symbolising voting urns set up at the apex of the V during la Diada

And this is where I think things get a bit messy for Madrid. You see it’s not nearly as simple as to say that all those who want the derecho a decidir actually want independence. Last week, when the Catalan Parliament passed the law for the referendum, it did so with the support of more than just the nationalist parties. Many Catalan’s just want to be allowed to have a say.

As an extranjero living in Barcelona, I feel strangely removed from what is going on around me. I’m aware that I can’t fully appreciate the fear and pain that many Spaniards feel at the possibility of a break-up of their country, nor understand the deep-seated sense of “difference” that Catalans feel to other Spaniards.  Also, I come from a country that has never suffered a civil war, as Spain did just 80 years ago, the memory of which I know must be having an impact on people’s opinions on this matter, but just how I cannot fully comprehend.

But I can’t help but wonder if Madrid’s emphatic “no” on exploring avenues for greater Catalan autonomy has not created a rod for its own back, helping to bring us to where we are now.  After all, it’s human nature to baulk at being told “no”. 

Add to that the seemingly un-ending economic crisis, earlier constitutional challenges against Cataluña led by the Party currently in power in Madrid, recent central government reforms that many in Cataluña see as attacks on their language and competences, and I can see where some of the fuel for the secessionist fire might be coming from.

Having said all that, I can understand that no government wants to be the one that oversees the break-up of their country – just look at the last-minute scramble David Cameron made up to Scotland when the polls started to give the advantage to the “Yes” camp in the Scottish vote.

Problem is, simple prohibition (even when based on sound legal arguments, as it seems to be here) seldom works. And Spain should know that better than most from it’s own recent history. Franco’s brutal oppression of any sign of (non-Spanish) nationalism did very little to quell people’s ambitions – if anything it made them stronger.

The laid-back Australian, and other myths (El australiano tranquilo y otros mitos)...

Mum has just been to visit us here in Barcelona.  It was a pretty long visit I suppose – six weeks  – but I actually got quite used to having her around the place.  The dog certainly loved having grandma here too, as his extended, sneaked-extra-snacks-girth is testament to. As for Giovanni, well the poor guy got some rest when Mum and I headed off to visit Paris and Pompeii...

During Mum’s stay, I was quickly reminded of a particular trait in us supposedly laid-back Australians, which then got me thinking about how living abroad for so long has led to a change in that “quality” in me. I’ll explain with examples.

A couple of days after Mum's arrival, my phone company, by error, restricted my overseas calling – not a small thing for an extranjero at any time, but pretty huge when Mum is visiting and needs to call home to check on the cat!  A couple of weeks later, the power company hit us with an extraordinarily large estimated power bill, for which they had sucked the money out of the bank before the bill had even arrived. And a little while after that, the phone company was at it again, this time an avería (fault) knocked out the phone and internet all together.

These events solicited exclamations of "disgraceful", "disgusting", "unbelievable" from Mum. Worse was to come when subsequent calls to said utility companies were met with apologies but a total inability to explain what went wrong or why. To Mum this was "inexplicable", "appalling" and "sheer incompetent customer service" (ouch).

And there was also the impatience. A few too many minutes seated in a café or restaurant or standing in a shop waiting to be served and I could feel the agitation rising as Mum's eyes darted around the place, looking to grab someone’s attention.

Now I realise that this makes Mum sound like a ferocious old dragon (sorry Mum); she really isn’t.  And anyway, it’s not just her. I was in Stockholm with my brother last year and he almost had a meltdown in a little bistro when told they had run out of his first two choices from the menu.

But these incidents did shock me: such impatience and indignation simply arising from everyday things not going quite as expected. Then I thought back to myself and what I was like when I first moved to Spain. I realised, back then, far from being shocked I would have most likely jointed in!

I remembered how often contact with a utility company or government department would leave me red-faced and fuming, spouting expletives that make Mum’s outbursts pale in comparison. Letters were written, hojas de reclamaciones (complaint forms) submitted, poor customer service agents berated.

My God, I thought, my whole family is a bunch of raving ratbags!

That’s not true of course (I promise). It’s just that in Australia we expect decent service and for things to get done correctly. And we tend to get rather annoyed when they don’t.

When I think about it, it’s probably an anglosaxjón thing. I remember in London, apart from service with-a-smile (which you’re pretty lucky to receive) and of course the Tube, people expected things to run smoothly too - and whoa-betide if they didn’t.

And I'm reminded of a dear friend from Los Angeles recounting to me his ire at the lack of action of the cabin crew to a group of drunken passengers on a recent flight from Ibiza to Madrid. I believe a letter was written to the airline.

So it’s me. I've changed. I must have become resigned to waiting a while to be served (without a smile) or rather regular utility company stuff-ups. I no longer move to indignation as a first port-of-call and I now notice when others do. I’m not so sure whether it's such a good thing (to accept things done a little shoddily), but hey, I think I’ve saved myself several strokes in the last few years.

Of course to Giovanni, who is as cool as a cucumber always, the apple still doesn’t fall that far from the tree. But remembering how I was and how I am now, I would say I’ve acclimatised exceedingly well.