Josep Guardiola set doctrine when he said that if we get up very early and without reproaches, we are an unstoppable country. At seven in the morning, Pablo Tallón opens the Here Catalunya (Ser) with the energy of an unstoppable day and includes a comment by Magi Camps on the first vestiges (yesterday I wrote about it in La Vanguardia) of Catalan. The night before, President Pere Aragonès had also vindicated Catalan with some good words full of that flaccidity that perpetuates the abyss between reality and propaganda.
Aragonés' institutional message will not go down in history, although the illuminators made an effort to place the president on a suggestive level. To the left, a carnivorous flag about to devour him. And at the back of the gallery, a door illuminated with a promising warmth. It's the kind of illumination you celebrate when, early in the morning, you look for the last open bar to have the penultimate drink and you glimpse a light that suggests hospitable waiters and a happily vicious parish. Looking for scenographic stimuli to compensate for the president's rigidity – trapped by shirt collars that constrict him beyond his capabilities – they should have included shadows of people celebrating something.
Early, very early, Carlos Herrera (Cope) says: “We have gone from a sad Diada to a full Diada thanks to Sánchez.” Carlos Alsina (Onda Cero), on the other hand, describes Carles Puigdemont's demands as the cause of the “courtship of Pretty Woman”, which forces the interlocutor to suck up to him. Catalunya Ràdio and RAC1 are preparing for a day of exhaustive monitoring of the Diada, knowing that Guardiola's dream of acting without reproach is, today, pure utopia. In fact, the reproach industry keeps alive the Cainite dimension of the independence movement (and, by extension, of the day). Some reproaches that begin with the parade of offerings at the Rafael Casanova monument, which TV3 broadcasts intermittently starting at eight while they perform, non-stop, Els reapers.
In Els matins de Catalunya Ràdio, Ricard Ustrell greets the audience with a “Bon día i visca Catalunya!” It is a greeting that contrasts with the dramatic news of the day: four young people (between 19 and 22 years old) run over by a train in Montmeló and, of course, the earthquake in Morocco. In La Sexta, Alfonso Arús, who would be an example of an unstoppable Catalan who has survived successive waves of patriotic correction, does not give up a touch of humor to comment on the news. He superimposes the images of the (absent) king of Morocco with those of the playwright Fernando Arrabal. “The king looks like Arrabal,” he says. It makes me think of Arrabal's obsession with chess and one of his phrases: “In chess the important thing is not the king or the queen but the pawns.”
