The revolution once again would not be televised – original words right here by the late Gil Scott-Heron - the Subterranean Traveller realised when he heard about the Mossos d’Esquadra’s bold repression against the harmless and innocent occupants of Plaça de Catalunya. So he did what had to be done and went down there to see for himself whether the bouncer-like police action had managed to bolster the rebellious mood, as so often is the case in these situations.
Upon arriving at the large quadrangle in between banks and department stores, he found the island like circular centre occupied by a hippie style sit-in, with people happily voting yes to whatever various others were illegibly contemplating into poorly amplified microphones. Around this inner democratic forum an impromptu campsite had been set up between crisscrossing clotheslines which had scribbled pieces of paper and carton hanging from them. Messages varied from more or less eloquently articulated indignation and resilience to calls for consumer boycotts and civilian uprising. The Subterranean caught the mood and painted down his own slogan on a large piece of prime quality paper some unknown enthusiast had offered a pile of to the cause. He talked to some indignant young women with different ideas of what revolution should be like, he bought a tin from a beer merchant and after a while he decided he should be going home again, wondering why he didn’t have the revolutionary spirit.
Walking the streets of Barcelona, he thought it over, this lack of innate conviction, and it seemed to the Traveller no one at Catalunya had what it takes to initiate some serious change. It’s all very nice backing up your closest friends, but how to convince those who were not there? The revolution won’t be televised, after all. The media prefer talking about partisan politics and football and if they want to show people’s indignation they rather give us imagery from other countries were leaders are actually really bad people, didn’t you know, while here, well, we’re a democracy and anyway, we’re complying with what Brussels tells us to do so who’s to blame?
Yes, it’s all very nice and peaceful and that is perhaps exactly how it should be, with people being fed up with high finance’s repulsive behaviour, but how will it grow? Can the revolution prosper without leaders? Usually when leaders stand up, the revolution comes to an end and a new era of control and repression is nascent. Is it all about continuously changing leadership or can we really live in peaceful anarchy? The Subterranean Traveller has no answers, he wasn’t born that way, he merely asks everybody’s questions.
The following day developments required for a fresh outlook. With Canaletes filled with Barça fans celebrating their team’s Cup win, there was reason to fear for the sit-in’s integrity. Would drunken fans invade the scene, would the riot police abuse their presence by once again trying to provoke the campers of their ground? Though concededly not much of a revolutionary, the Subterranean Traveller felt his physical presence might be welcome, just being in the path of an unforgiving idiot or else hoping to dissuade their intention with the type of highly energised lingo he hoped he still was able to reproduce.
Everything okay on the square. The Traveller got into eye contact with a big smiling indignada and a few charmingly put remarks on her rebellious nature earned himself an invitation to sit with her friends. There was definitely uncertainty about how the night would end, but also a firm believe that with every passing minute the chance of seeing sunrise unscathed was augmenting. Inside this friendly circle of peaceful smiles and – it must be said – often quite naïve exchanges, the Subterranean could feel the believe growing on him. Far out it may have been a different world, but right there people were creating a timeless vacuum for their dreams to come true. It is so easy to be part of it, the Traveller thought, and all it takes is a long, hot summer to make it to September, the quintessential revolution month.
Away once more from Catalunya, after having left some more home-grown propaganda, the Subterranean Traveller stepped into the remains of a long, wild night of Cup celebrations. He sniffed the adrenaline hanging over the battlefield and he could not help but liking it. Occasional success seems so much more attractive than endless peace. But then again, it was quite nice out there and everybody will carry that feeling in their hearts for some time to come.
The revolution will not be televised, for sure, but some unadulterated footage does show why the media aren't interested. They are really fucking peaceful, those fucking hippies, and they do not even respond to our fucking police’s inducement tactics. Bunch of losers.
