It is what it is. I don’t know if this sounds like surrender, I want to think not, but it’s enough to head butt against the wall. For ideological reasons, family reasons, by mistake, to be contrary, because red and white bracelets are coolbecause being Cayetano is fashionable or for whatever reason, but there is a large number of Spaniards of different ages and conditions -there are not four cats- who they will never deny Francoism. Nor of his inheritance. Let’s give up all hope. If a right-wing leader like Alberto Núñez Feijoo, proclaimed to the four winds as a paradigm of moderation and good sense, has been able to synthesize our bloodiest past with the phrase: “eighty years ago our grandparents fought…” then there is nothing to do.
It is true that they are not a uniform collective and therefore require different responses. They are in the front row Francoists without complexes, a gang of fascists who appropriated the flag long ago and turned the words Spain and homeland into a throwing weapon; seconded, either out of convenience or stupidity, by some people hitherto considered moderate. But then there are many others who are simply uncomfortable with the subjectothers who believe in good faith that stirring up the past is a bad idea, and even those who, because they do not agree with those who think differently, do not shy away from teasing them with something so delicate. I think there are too many to think that a permanent dog-fight is the only alternative. I will continue reporting the shame of the dead in the gutterspissing me off every time someone makes up tributes to Millan Astraydemanding that schools study what happened in this country, defending the laws that dignify memory and giving a voice, whenever possible, to those who suffered the scourge of the dictatorship. But I assume that there are compatriots who do not think or feel the same as me. And except for the halters that would celebrate Franco’s resurrection, I want -and have- to live with them. And they with me.