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Saturday, March 22, 2003 The honeymoon between Madrid's police and the protestors apparently expired yesterday as the demonstrations grew in vehemence, and the police responded with short tempers and flaring nerves. Demonstrations continue around the city, both large-scale and very small-scale. The sound of chanting voices and whistles or the sight of signs and banners bobbing in the air above groups of people have become as common as the sound of helicopters coming and going, the government keeping track of the dissent rippling around the various sections of the city. I personally have not witnessed any instances of conflict between the two factions, though I've seen brief glimpses of videos on local newscasts, the camera's unblinking eye avidly following intense images of police beating protestors with rubber truncheons. (Between this and the continuing broadcast saturation of war coverage, I watch TV selectively, staying away from things I can do nothing about which get my stomach churning.) I have only seen a careful co-existence between protestors and police, for which I am grateful. The outrage here continues to build as the intensity of the American bombardment grows in scale. Aznar's party -- the Partido Popular -- is alone in their support of the war. The approach they've taken these last months, as the invasion went from possible to probable to imminent to HAPPENING, has been to label any expression of disagreement by representatives of other political parties as either "disloyal" or "opportunistic" -- a tactic that only seems to have aroused deeper and deeper discontent and anger in both the general population (already overwhelmingly opposed) and the political opposition. Coupled with Aznar's steadfast refusal to listen to feedback from anyone not in complete conformance with the course he has insisted upon, the result has been growing resistance from the rest of the political spectrum, including the defection of the one or two smaller political parties who have traditionally supported el Partido Popular in the Spanish parliament, so that the PP is now effectively isolated from both the voting public and every other political party in Spain. Once the invasion began, Aznar and his Vice President, Rajoy, made statements suggesting somewhat pugnaciously that all political parties should now join the PP in forming a consensus of support for the war -- a suggestion that went nowhere. Considering how successful Aznar and the PP have been up until this last autumn and the sinking of the Prestige off Spain's northwest coast (and the resulting waves of crude oil washing in along the Spanish coastline), their comportment these last few months has been a mystery to me -- so grossly ineffectual, so steadily counterproductive that one would expect fundamentally intelligent people such as these to note and adjust, to try out other angles, adopt different, possibly softer manners of speech and political interaction. Municipal elections are scheduled for May -- it will be interesting to see how the different sides fare. I suspect it will be seen as an early indication of how next year's national elections will play out. Today dawned with mostly cloudy skies, sunlight coming and going, until the cloud cover thickened late afternoon and a cold breeze picked up. After picking up groceries in various places this morning, I returned home and spent two or three restless hours with no clue re: what to do with myself -- unable to focus on any one thing, with no idea what I wanted to do in the coming hours. To the point where it became obvious I needed to get myself out of here and take a lengthy walk. Threw some things into a bag (notebook, dictionary, mobile phone, pens, something to read). Headed outside. Immediately felt better. Lots of people about. Life, energy, movement. Humans to watch. Took a long, leisurely trudge along Gran Vía, stopping along the way for a cup of Italian ice cream. Found my way to la Plaza de España, grabbed a bench along the long promenade that stretches between the two immense fountains. Enjoyed the parade of humans streaming through the plaza. Did homework. The chilly breeze cranked up a bit, I began realizing I'd dressed for warmer conditions (having gotten used to spring weather), zipped up my fleece jacket and stoically continued with schoolwork, feeling chillier by the minute. At one point, someone across one of the streets that demarcate the plaza set off something explosive -- bigger than a cherry bomb, more like an ashcan or M-15. Big enough that I could feel the concussion in my chest. I jumped, my breath seizing up for an instant. And then heard whistles sounding off in the distance. The whistles continued in the following minutes, slowly moving closer, sounding as if they were approaching along Gran Vía. Police vehicles began showing up, I wondered if I needed to prepare for trouble. And before too long, a demonstration moved by -- orderly, peaceful, making their point and continuing on. The police held off traffic until the marchers passed, then remained directing it until the congestion in the wake of the marchers eased off. I breathed a bit easier, zipping my fleece jacket all the way up as the breeze grew colder. All together, I sat on that bench for a couple of hours. People came and went -- families, couples, groups of young folks, individuals with dogs appearing overjoyed to be there. Laughing clusters of young women. Teen-age kids with soccer balls. The occasional person on a bicycle. A tall, slender African man with a toddler walked slowly by, following his child's meandering course. At some point, the little boy -- maybe two, two and a half years old -- noticed me sitting there. I smiled at him. He smiled back, moving closer. He hauled himself up on the bench by me, his father hovering nearby then bending over to the settle the little guy against the back of the bench, where he sat looking around. I gave him another smile, his smile got goofily broad in response. He carefully checked out the bench, then he looked at nearby pigeons. He noticed his pants legs and checked them out. He tried to stand up to check something else out, his father bent over to steady him. I sat watching the whole show. When both the father and I were paying close attention to the fun the little one was having examining everything he saw, I said to the father, "Cada día un nuevo mundo, ¿eh?" ("Every day a new world, eh?" I know you could translate the "¿eh?" bit yourself -- I threw it in there for the sake of completeness.) He seemed a bit startled that I'd said something friendly, took in my smile, smiled back, saying, "¡Sí!" As if I'd made an understatement. A short time later a 30-something Central American couple, with a little girl about the same age as the little guy, sat down by me. Olive skin, straight jet-back hair. Dark eyes, almost almond-shaped. Startlingly similar in look to the Japanese. The parents completely ignored me. The little girl noticed me, I gave her a smile but she wasn't having any of it. She stared at me, her expression uncertain, then she moved over to the other side of her mother where she could peer around at me if she wanted to, then lean back out of view if I looked back. As I've written this, sitting home early Saturday evening, a helicopter spent a long time hovering a few hundred feet up a block or two away -- probably keeping an eye on protest activity centered around Gran Vía. When it finally moved off, the barrio's noise level settled down to the more normal Saturday night hubbub. Two of Madrid's three professional fútbol clubs are playing each other tonight (Atlético Madrid and Rayo Vallecano), el derby Madrileño. Time to act like a normal guy and watch some sports. Later. rws 5:08 PM [+]
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