Chances are you're aware of the terrorist attacks that took place here in Madrid early this morning -- numerous bombs placed on trains, set off during the a.m. rush hour. I first learned of it shortly after hauling myself out of bed when, on impulse, I cranked up the TV.* At that time, the true scope of the events and their effects had not yet been grasped, though a steady stream of heavy-duty images flowed from every channel: gutted trains, crowds of emergency crews feverishly at work, wounded and dead being carried to staging areas.
I went out to get a paper and an espresso -- my downstairs neighbor and the woman who lives across the hall from me stood together in the building's foyer, talking in amazed, shaken voices about what they'd so far heard. I paused to say good-morning, listened while one of them mentioned hearing a news report that put the death toll at over 100, with many hundreds more wounded, figures that momentarily left us all standing silent, staring at each other with no idea what to say. [Note: the casualty count varies, depending on the source. As of March 13, it stands at between 190 and 200 dead, more than 1500 wounded.]
The newspaper kiosk in the plaza down the street had a radio going, loudly playing news coverage while people stood listening. The cafetería in the plaza, one of my preferred haunts for the morning wake-up routine, had their television on, volume high, images from the horrific events unreeling onscreen, most everyone in the place watching. Activity behind the counter moved more slowly than normal, the overall atmosphere lower-key, more sombre than its usual animated, caffeinated self. Many people sat at tables, taking it in, eyes wide, others milled about the counter, some awaiting drinks or food, some facing the television, quiet, motionless, following the coverage.
The morning papers I glanced through were filled with the sort of stories that have become normal of late -- the Spanish national elections happen this Sunday, the campaign has produced a steady stream of commentary, partisan editorials, lengthy elaborations on polls and their ramifications, bloated articles on all aspects of the candidates/the parties, and endless election-related speculation. A lot of hot air, though great practice for someone like me (learning the language, seeking challenging reading).
In addition to the usual high noise level of an election campaign, this one has been marked by an intense, strident stream of invective from the ruling party (el Partido Popular, with outgoing president José María Aznar at the helm) and its candidates, principally aimed -- directly or otherwise -- at the Socialist party and its candidate for the Spanish presidency. A daily flow of savage verbiage that's been a bit stunning in its extremity and relentlessness, complemented by the refusal of the PP and its presidential candidate to take part in a face-to-face debate with the Socialist candidate. One result of all this has been the highlighting of a deep division in the Spanish electorate, a growing sense of disunity and rancor.
I've looked forward to the elections bringing an end to that constant, blaring white noise, and part of my reaction to this morning's attacks was a feeling of not being terribly surprised in a certain, sad way -- the atmosphere promulgated by the ruling party has come to feel so startlingly, exaggeratedly toxic that the ugliness of a terrorist attack seemed to be a kind of match: a dramatic, brutal acting-out of the type of energy that's been in the air.
Paging through the papers, the constant news-narration from the television overriding most conversation around me, I found myself wondering what the government and the other political parties would do with the sudden left-hand turn the morning had brought -- hoping that the ruling party would not use it as one more blunt instrument to bludgeon opponents with, hoping that no one else on the Spanish political scene would make the mistake of doing anything similar.
At home, I turned on the TV from time to time -- coverage of the attacks remained the sole programming on all channels. In the early afternoon hours, all coverage turned to Aznar's address to the nation, alternately sober and defiant, hearteningly free of divisive rhetoric. I later found out that both the PP and the Socialists have suspended their election campaigns, and throughout the day there has been an increasing call for unity, a message that appears to be coming from across the political spectrum -- it may turn out to be nothing more than a few days' rest, but I'm hoping it'll prove to be something more. I don't yet know if the suspension of campaigns means a postponement of the elections themselves -- that will become clear soon enough, I'm sure.
There was a period back in the mid-80s when I rode an ambulance, working as an EMT. The me of those years would have wanted to insert himself into the action at one of Madrid's affected railroad stations or at a local hospital -- with nearly 200 dead and well over 1000 wounded, the city's emergency facilities have been overwhelmed. Schools and other public spaces have been pressed into use as sites for triage and treatment, and extra hands with some rudimentary medical knowledge would probably find a way to be useful with little trouble. The me of these years is grateful to be the distance I am from the three different ground zeros where the bombings took place. It's enough going outside now and then, turning on the television or radio from time to time -- there's already plenty to absorb watching the impact of the morning's events on the people of the city. Spontaneous vigils and protests have been underway for hours, and many thousands of people have been trying to give blood. I headed deeper into the city center at one point with that same thought, but the sight of endless lines of individuals waiting to donate changed my mind for me. There will be other opportunities within the next few days, when the crowds have diminished a bit.
*A longer, more involved process than you might imagine, the TV in this flat being an old war-horse that has put in many honorable centuries of service and is now limping toward the day when it will be ushered gently out to pasture.