9 a.m. on a Sunday morning is never a kind hour for a Spaniard, ever, and the village
was no exception. The usual Saturday night Sunday morning drunks were still going strong
and their square has been taken over by these well-meaning, highly organized hippies. What's
a drunk to do? They tried to join in, but their contribution is gently turned away.
We came late to the party, not getting down to meet the encampment and its inhabitants
until this past weekend, June 5th. Visiting Milan at the time of the initial protest,
I was not able to grasp the intent and passion of this place, but I think I was lucky to
visit weeks later when the crowds had gone back home and the die-hard full-timers were
going about the business of change, one transparent decision at a time.
The place chosen for this 21st century squat could not be more central to the power, might,
and tourist spectacle of Spain, Puerta del Sol. Surrounding the Nozzo Square Square is the
seat of Madrid's government. In this building sits Esperanza, the president of Madrid, the
governor, if you like. It is noted here that she has yet to walk across the boulevard to
meet and greet her latest guests, or even dialogue with them. She has also, on the other
hand, shown some restraint by allowing them to remain peacefully in her forecourt. The
infamous clock on her building wall is point zero for all that is measured in Spain, points
north, south, east, and west. This is not lost on our camp, who has representatives
here from all four corners, and notably comrades and southern neighbors from the Arab Spring.
Just an aside, they had the best furnished tents and by far the cleanest, with small stoves
and sweet tea on the boil, served in beautiful decorated glasses. Their recent uprising gave
this camp the title of Spanish summer, but to me they have done more than this. Seeing
their colorful placards, I realize that they have changed the way I look at their alphabet.
For the past ten years it has given off a menacing connotation, but now reads as the
new peace symbol. Just one spring awakening, and so much has changed.
Nearby is the more famous Plata Mayor and, to the north, the shopping arcades, the almost
regal courting glaze. In the Puerta del Sol, missing its infamous teopepe neon logo, the
symbol of Madrid, the bear and the tree, has been decorated with a giant marigold and a
small replica of it nearby made out of recycled plastic. The consumer billboards are now defaced
with bright, funny protest art, outsider art, the camp has its own wallpaper, the picture
is complete, the takeover, final. Recycle, reuse, everything here is geniusly
recycled from something that has been discarded. In fact, I think one could be correct in saying
that the only thing not recycled could be the fresh bread served in the missing hut and
the milk for hot chocolate. Giant and small pieces of canvas, plastic, recycled tents,
torn tarpaulin, garbage bags and cardboard cover most of the mini camps inside this village.
And it is a village. The further you walk into the labyrinth of kindergarten crashes,
classrooms, art spaces, libraries, performance space, medical units, canteens and coordination
hubs, the more you are mentally drawn in. After a very short amount of time you begin
to feel part of the tribe, if only as an observer. By observing in a respectful but consenting
way, returning a kind smile or joining in a conversation, you become one with them and
move towards supporting them and wishing them to stay here for you because you cannot do
this. You have a job you have to go to, a home to care for, children to pay for. But
you're glad they're doing it, you're glad that somebody is doing it because things
have to change. And this village is change but not an angry mob, a new peace module.
Change from here, build the nursery, bring the family, plant vegetables, sweep the street
clean and write the petitions daily. You have the time and you've taken the space.
9am on a Sunday morning, the usual busy bees were up, working the phones, the internet,
getting ready for the weekly very public and transparent general assembly, which is held
on the pavement outside the entrance to the metro. Each region is represented and votes
cast with a very Hawaiian looking shaking of hands in midair. The observers, lost somewhere
between here and the rastro, were drawn in one by one. Let's hope their journey changes
them too. This village is full of change, of peaceful, generous, organic, vegetarian
eating children, fed on alternative education and art, and sickened by the bloated fashion
of consumerism. They are here and hopefully they're not going away anytime soon. You go
down to the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise.
