Two news stories...

Last night I was watching the Telediario (generic word for News) and two stories ran back to back.

Watching the news, I learn that 10% of the Spanish population has never left their province. 48% of Spaniards have never left Spain. Aside from the utter absurdity of a largely immobile population, the irony is that there is a surprising abundance of international anecdotes. I was on the metro a week ago, and I heard a young group of teens telling each other scary stories. "Did you know that there was this Russian man who was declared dead. During his funeral, he woke up, and the shock of being buried gave him a heart attack and he died on the spot. You´d think that the priest, at least the coroner would be able to tell". The next day, I heard the same story from my roomate, only that the Russian was a woman, and she was in this state for several days before they buried her. Although I am not surprised by the the access one has to international news-scoop, what still shocks me is that there is so much about the Spanish press that the news itself reports to be false. Ironically, such a critical commentary on press coverage, creates a fractal community, who is callously (or perhaps connivingly) self-critiquing. (Sorry! I got stuck.)

The second item that caught my attention is that involving the British news agency "News of the World", Hugh Grant and the British Prime Minister. Apparently, the agency "News of the World" uses illegal and invasive means ("intervención telefónica"--telephone hacking??), to dig up dirt on anybody they take a fancy to dislike. As the journalist spoke to the me from the orderly town of London, her English heels correctly placed at the modest 30 degree angle, her scarf ever so slightly moving in the negligible British breeze--she said, "Este caso subraya una tendencia documentada hacía mucho tiempo: la coincidencia del Poder, la Prensa y a la Politica. Los tres Ps."

The relationship between an increasing awareness of the international world, the so-called "globalization", combined with the increasing awareness of media bias leads to interesting results.

The first day I arrived, I sat down to watch la tele and get used to listening to Spanish on a daily basis. The first thing Teodora said to me was, don´t trust everything you see on TV. The way they describe the "movimiento de los indignados" is not true. The people complain of the "indignados": they are filth, ruffians, they steal and smoke pot all day. When they organize committees, the committees themselves don´t make any sense: a committee to decide whether to grow tomatoes or onions. A committee to decide whether to give henna tattoos or tattoos without anesthetic or antibiotics. A committee dedicated to Risoterapía--laugh therapy. The smell that was coming from the Plaça Catalunya, main plaza in the center of Barcelona where the Indignats were indignantly camped for almost a month, was strong and very unpleasant. I also have to say that personally, despite my very unexpected experience with naked men and sand, I am not interested in seeing men and women hanging out in well-worn "anti-capitalist" clothing and yelling things at me when I am going to Corte Inglés to charge my phone. Eating is even worse. As I sit sipping my very expensive cortado, I can´t help to analyze the magnetic display of angst. The dirty clothes are now exchanged in the Barcelona heat for moss-colored briefs. The kind with the little sag in the butt and oddly grotesque stains.

A second coffee in Plaça Catalunya is out of the question. The Indignats don´t pretend to have any organization, no central organizational body, no leaders, no purpose.... they are there to be indignant. To complain. To shout. And to make a public performance out of their frustration.

What is profoundly epic about the Indignants is the self-expression. It is poetic. Instead of dressing, washing, and appealing to Parlament, the expression of distress becomes the opposite: brushing teeth becomes a sublimely political act. When, if ever, has lethargy been so extremely political? So radically political?

I find it telling that the expression of poverty has become the expression of Indignation. Not rage, but just indignation. We are a "Post" generation; reacting to the previous philosophies, but finding fault with all. We define by our negation. Affirm by our disaffirmation. It seems logical to camp out in Plaça Catalunya; to shout and make noise; to protest even if we don´t know how or what to change.

Walking back through the streets of my barrio, I find a surprising smell of fresh bread, sweet pastries, trash, and dog pee. I don´t think I´ll be camping out in Plaça Catalunya until they get at least minimal showers... oh yeah, and hot water.