Today I woke up late, perhaps because it is one of those days that bring back memories so tragic, I prefer to pass like I do not remember anything, it is really painful .
I have connected to facebook and I found references dating to March 11 and many of my contacts. Inevitably, has come to my mind the moment I learned of the disaster. At first the news seemed there were few deaths, but the amount thereof increased during the course of the morning to figure unbearable.
I was in a cafe in the Faculty of Law, preparing a debate on university elections and now returns to me that same feeling of pain and helplessness, coupled with anger.
One of my sisters was in Madrid, I tried calling but no answer.
Dean soon meet to postpone all acts of day, no doubt assisted him right, but that anger sparked in me an opposite reaction. Spain had already suffered many attacks, even in the same faculty as the professor who was my criminal law practice, Don Luis Portero, in whose home I spent the morning he was tragically killed by ETA criminals. I was tired of dancing to playing terrorists, tired of certain patterns that will mark my life, so I convinced Mr. Dean and those who were to participate in this small college debate, lest they be suspended, thus preventing the terrorists win.
finally received a call from my home, I was told my sister and my nephew is doing well.
The debate was held, and during it, we all had a heavy heart because by that afternoon, the death toll was already outrageous.
When completed, went shopping with three friends, a few yards of cloth of the flag of Spain. The hour of the demonstration and wanted to express our revulsion at the attacks and our support to the families of the victims.
The starting point could be heard Death to ETA, Basque yes, ETA. These cries were repeated and echoed by the many attendees who wanted to join the outpouring of grief. Many flags of Spain and all united by pain. It was comforting to feel that it was a shared pain. As we
Gran Via, a group of about fifteen or twenty individuals, approached the head of the demonstration. They came with very distinct cries: hawked against our Prime Minister and against the Partido Popular. The vast majority of people began to boo, it was not a place to go to politics, or so we thought.
When I close, I quickly identified a number of them belonged to the Socialist Youth and had a job to do: divide Spain and take the pain and fear to overturn elections. Not wearing a flag like the rest of the attendees, they were after a banner of "Aznar murderer." Many people were outraged
that gave voices to try not to take our pain.
The next afternoon, I knew who had attacked the headquarters of the Partido Popular. A few days later, a tontico of my people, commented on the street, which the Socialists picked up and paid for going to mess form the headquarters of the PP.
I was part of a polling station on behalf of the Popular Party in those elections fatal. I remember painted on the street with the phrase "PP murderers", I remember the reprimands of some lady, to call in some way, which took the liberty to call me murderer in the face by the simple fact carry the accreditation of the PP controller, I remember a call from a friend who was beaten for being the PP, but what I remember best, which I can never forget is the feeling of anger and contempt that gave me the election results .
remained very clear that democracy is the political system in which the people exercise their right to be wrong. But surrender to the murderers? It was more than a fault it was an act in which the English people bowed his head and bowed down to terrorism, it was the abandonment and surrender to the dead who were murdered and to the use of those who served the PSOE, backed by certain media.
For the first time in my life, I felt ashamed to be English.
I have connected to facebook and I found references dating to March 11 and many of my contacts. Inevitably, has come to my mind the moment I learned of the disaster. At first the news seemed there were few deaths, but the amount thereof increased during the course of the morning to figure unbearable.
I was in a cafe in the Faculty of Law, preparing a debate on university elections and now returns to me that same feeling of pain and helplessness, coupled with anger.
One of my sisters was in Madrid, I tried calling but no answer.
Dean soon meet to postpone all acts of day, no doubt assisted him right, but that anger sparked in me an opposite reaction. Spain had already suffered many attacks, even in the same faculty as the professor who was my criminal law practice, Don Luis Portero, in whose home I spent the morning he was tragically killed by ETA criminals. I was tired of dancing to playing terrorists, tired of certain patterns that will mark my life, so I convinced Mr. Dean and those who were to participate in this small college debate, lest they be suspended, thus preventing the terrorists win.
finally received a call from my home, I was told my sister and my nephew is doing well.
The debate was held, and during it, we all had a heavy heart because by that afternoon, the death toll was already outrageous.
When completed, went shopping with three friends, a few yards of cloth of the flag of Spain. The hour of the demonstration and wanted to express our revulsion at the attacks and our support to the families of the victims.
The starting point could be heard Death to ETA, Basque yes, ETA. These cries were repeated and echoed by the many attendees who wanted to join the outpouring of grief. Many flags of Spain and all united by pain. It was comforting to feel that it was a shared pain. As we
Gran Via, a group of about fifteen or twenty individuals, approached the head of the demonstration. They came with very distinct cries: hawked against our Prime Minister and against the Partido Popular. The vast majority of people began to boo, it was not a place to go to politics, or so we thought.
When I close, I quickly identified a number of them belonged to the Socialist Youth and had a job to do: divide Spain and take the pain and fear to overturn elections. Not wearing a flag like the rest of the attendees, they were after a banner of "Aznar murderer." Many people were outraged
that gave voices to try not to take our pain.
The next afternoon, I knew who had attacked the headquarters of the Partido Popular. A few days later, a tontico of my people, commented on the street, which the Socialists picked up and paid for going to mess form the headquarters of the PP.
I was part of a polling station on behalf of the Popular Party in those elections fatal. I remember painted on the street with the phrase "PP murderers", I remember the reprimands of some lady, to call in some way, which took the liberty to call me murderer in the face by the simple fact carry the accreditation of the PP controller, I remember a call from a friend who was beaten for being the PP, but what I remember best, which I can never forget is the feeling of anger and contempt that gave me the election results .
remained very clear that democracy is the political system in which the people exercise their right to be wrong. But surrender to the murderers? It was more than a fault it was an act in which the English people bowed his head and bowed down to terrorism, it was the abandonment and surrender to the dead who were murdered and to the use of those who served the PSOE, backed by certain media.
For the first time in my life, I felt ashamed to be English.
