On
March 11, 2004 -- known as "el 11-M" in Spain -- 191 people were killed and thousands wounded when ten bombs exploded on four different commuter trains in a terrorist attack in Madrid. Until 2004, terrorist attacks in Spain had been largely tied to ETA, the Basque separatist organization. Initially, Spanish politicians -- including the president at the time, José María Aznar, and the candidate for president, Mariano Rajoy, both of the Partido Popular, or "People's Party" (PP) -- and media blamed ETA for the attacks. However, ETA had long had a practice of announcing their attacks prior to their occurrence, as well as assuming responsibility for them. Also, despite the fact that ETA had murdered over 800 since 1968, their largest attack was the Barcelona
Hipercor bombing of 1987, which killed 21.
Occurring just three days before Spain's presidential elections, the attacks inspired widespread protests when it became apparent that the governing party (aligned with Bush and Blair) had attempted to sway public opinion by contacting the media and asking them to support the ETA theory, as
Democracy Now reported in November 2004:
Within a few hours, Spanish prime minister Jose Maria Aznar had called all the major media executives in the country and told them that ETA, the Basque separatist group, was to blame. Such was the conviction expressed by the president that Spain’s largest newspaper, the left-leaning EL PAIS, published a special edition on the day of the attacks with the title "ETA massacre in Madrid."
Without a doubt, the ETA theory was politically-motivated. As is well-known, the Aznar government supported the U.S. invasion of Iraq. The widely-publicized photo of Tony Blair, George Bush, and Aznar smiling like the three amigos in the Azores had drawn the ire of Spaniards that had protested the war from the outset. Essentially, Aznar ignored public outrage about the Iraq invasion, and allied himself with England and the U.S. It is impossible to overlook the fact that two of the countries suffered major terrorist attacks on September and March 11 (England, on Juy 7, 2005). Thus, promoting the ETA theory served to benefit Aznar, while opening the door to radical Islamic terrorists did not. The people of Spain came together -- some holding signs reading "paz," some demanding the PP stop lying -- in a powerful, visible display of solidarity on the streets of Madrid.
The day after the bombings, a massive demonstration that had been promoted by the government to protest the attacks turned into a spontaneous antiwar event that condemned both the bombings in Madrid and in Iraq. Finally, on the eve of the elections, thousands of people congregated in front of the headquarters of the governing political party, the PP. They demanded to be told the truth. (Democracy Now, November 23, 2004)
In 2007, an official report ruled out any ETA involvement in the 2004 bombings, but was also unable to establish any
direct links to Al-Qaeda. To date, at least 2 men have been sentenced - a
Moroccan national and a Spaniard. Both men received sentences over 30,000 (thirty thousand)
years and were charged with supplying the materials needed to make the bombs -- cell phones and dynamite. The years are mainly symbolic, as no one can remain in prison longer than 40 years in Spain. The Socialist party (PSOE), led by José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero, has been in power since 2004, but the Zapatero government has had its share of problems, particularly regarding the economy.
Similar to what happened in the U.S. after September 11, Spain has begun to witness an attempt to deal with March 11 via literature, film and music. Probably the best known example to date is the song "
Jueves" by the now defunct pop group La Oreja de Van Gogh (LOVG). I also recently finished a short novel by Ricardo Menéndez Salmón,
El corrector, which has March 11 as its backdrop. And just days ago, I read about a new documentary film,
Un largo invierno, which adopts a new approach to the March 11 story. The film's trailer is embedded in this post below. English subtitles are forthcoming on the official site.
In
Un largo invierno ("A Long Winter," 2009), director Sebastián Arabia opts for a much different focus than those we are used to seeing in "terror documentaries." Here, there are no images of smoldering, twisted train cars or people weeping. We do not see played for the millionth time, from the vantage point of an escalator, the moment one of the bombs explodes. In his hour-long film, Arabia zeroes in on one protagonist,
Pilar Manjón, whose 20-year old son, Daniel Paz Manjón, died in the March 11 attacks. Significantly, Pilar Manjón is also the president of the Asociación 11M Afectados del Terrorismo ("March 11 Association of those Affected by Terrorism," originally meant to serve victims of March 11 and their families), founded in 2004. She might be said to be the public face of March 11 -- during the
March 11 hearings, she called out politicians and accused terrorists alike, and demanded that a new commission be created, independent of political affiliation. Perhaps, it was this appearance that led to her largely negative portrayal by the mainstream press, but Manjón's affiliation with the worker's trade union Comisiones Obreras (CCOO) -- originally founded by the Spanish Communist party -- has probably also contributed unfairly to the tirade of insults she has received.
In addition to the extreme suffering caused by the violent death of her son, Pilar Manjón has had to tolerate public slandering. Cast as the leader of a conspiracy to bring down the right, Manjón has received death threats and even required a body guard to walk down the street. In 2008, she attempted to press charges against two voices of the COPE radio station (sponsored by the Catholic Church and of an extreme right nature) for publicly humilliating herself and, by extension, the victims of terrorism, with comments they made. The complaint was denied. Manjón has also been vocal about the lack of economic and moral support the victims of March 11 have received. Sure to be controversial is the moment in the documentary when Manjón assures the camera she
wishes the attacks had been caused by ETA, because then the victims would have been considered "víctimas de primera" (first-class victims) by the Spanish government, rather than second-class citizens. The hierarchy of victims is a topic taken up by Judith Butler in
Precarious Life, and I was reminded of this work when I heard this statement. However, to be clear, Manjón is just as angry about the deaths caused by March 11 as she is regarding the deaths in Iraq.
Un largo invierno oscillates between the testimony of Pilar Manjón and clips of Spanish politicians and mainstream media interviews, as well as footage from the protests which followed March 11. This was the first time I have listened to Manjón at length, and I found her to be an eloquent, informed speaker. She has an air of fatigue and grief about her, but her emotions rarely, if ever, overtake her statements. When Manjón is speaking, Arabia tends to use close-up shots, periodically zeroing in on her hands. On several occasions we catch a glimpse of what appears to be a tattoo of her son's name ("Dani") on Manjón's right hand.
I like the way the film begins, with viewers hearing Manjón's report to the March 11 commission being read in her own voice, and simultaneously watching Manjón appear to be listening to her words, as if from a distance. The film picks up the words of this report towards the end of the documentary as well. I also found the end of the film well-done, with the stark images of faces of all ages contrasted against the white background. Such shots are reminiscent of the earlier-mentioned "Jueves" video, and they humanize the events of March 11. However, as I will go into later on, I wonder why the director does not give viewers more access to these people at the end. Who are they? Are they families of the victims? Are some of them those who were wounded on that day? We cannot be sure. It seems we are to read them, as
one reviewer put it, as Manjón's acolytes. Yet we just don't know, because they don't speak. Some are serious, some smile and seem to joke with one another. But, unlike Manjón, they remain nameless.
I believe that this was an important film to make, particularly given the politicized nature of March 11, and the villainization of Pilar Manjón. Just like in the U.S. and elsewhere, the notion of "terror" and the concept of the "victim" have been co-opted and manipulated by politicians for political gain. It is difficult to ignore Manjón's point that ETA victims are better treated than other victims of terrorism in Spain, particularly when she cites the economic and medical challenges many face, and asserts that some March 11 victims are actually getting
worse rather than better. I also appreciate the director's efforts to allot Manjón her own speaking platform, while he weaves in documentation and audioclips that essentially denounce the center-right (
El Mundo) and the extreme right's self-appointed spokespersons (Jiménez Losantos and César Vidal). That said, after viewing this film for the first time yesterday -- and I have not seen it multiple times, which I usually do with documentaries I hope to study -- I am left with some questions. I should add that yesterday, the film was available for viewing
in its entirety on the official site, but today, that video has unfortunately been removed (trailer is below and is available only in Spanish at the time).
My doubts regarding this film have to do with the use of Manjón as a centerpiece. The official title of the documentary,
Un largo invierno, is preceded by a short descriptor, referencing Manjón's name and position. But because the promotional materials feature Manjón's face in shadow, it seems clear that she is meant to stand in as a representative of that long winter. This is a fact Sebastián Arabia acknowledges -- in the
words of the director, "había que corregir algo muy perverso, el aislamiento de Pilar" ("we had to correct something really sick, Pilar's isolation," translation mine). Arabia adds that Manjón has had to carry on her shoulders a very close-knit organization ("lleva sobre los hombros un colectivo muy unido").
Perhaps, one of the film's intentions is thus, to illustrate how the personal trauma of March 11 is also a collective one. Yet while we see the power of community uniting in the days after March 11, in full support of the victims, we are also reminded, sadly, of how a community may also unite
against its own victims and their loved ones. I am reminded of the despicable
comments made by Ann Coulter in 2006, when she called 9-11 widows "self-obssessed" women "reveling in their status as celebrities" who "enjoyed their husbands' death so much." Pilar Manjón has become the whipping toy for those who still resent that the PP lost the elections on March 14, 2004. I see Arabia's point in getting Manjón's extended testimony beyond the courtroom and the paparrazi, but isn't placing her at the center of his film taking something away from the rest of the stories of 11-M victims? What we have in this film is Pilar Manjón against the world. What about everyone else? Can this one woman really represent everyone? In
Arabia's opinion, in telling Pilar's story, he is simultaneously telling a part of Spain's recent history ("No creo que sólo esté contando la historia de Pilar, creo que estoy contando una pequeña parte de la Historia de nuestro país”).
Ultimately,
Un largo invierno is a study in memory and forgetting. On the one hand, we have the sense that the PP, the party in power in 2004, tried to impose its own (false) narrative about March 11, which arguably got the party kicked out of office. In addition, the film narrates the trials Manjón has endured, depicting them as concerted efforts to silence her. And, at the time of filming, it is five years later, and what we have is the sense that the March 11 victims and their families are being forgotten, removed from public view. Manjón speculates that this forgetting -- particularly, due to the lack of economic assistance by the Comunidad de Madrid -- is politically-motivated. We come away looking at Manjón as the voice against forgetting and silence about March 11. In fact, the film almost feels like we are to read it as Pilar Manjón's vindication.
Another way we might approach the subject of memory and forgetting has to do with the imagery Arabia chooses to use (or not). The director states that he purposely
did not use images of 11-M because he wanted viewers to recall on their own the sentiments of those days in March 2004, but also because the photographs and videos of bodies and shattered, twisted train cars have been misued and abused. In this instance, I agree wholeheartedly with the director's decision. Also, by foregrounding images of the protests and politicians, Arabia tries to showcase the response to March 11, or what was going on while the majority of people were still glued to their TVs focusing on the sheer enormity of the tragedy -- this sort of "global" view would not have been possible just after the attacks, or even in the first few anniversaries.
Though the film was just released in April 2010 and does not yet have subtitles, I also have doubts about how the intricacies of the March 11 story will be explained to audiences abroad. The film manages to condense an incredibly complicated trajectory into 56 minutes, and I think the characters and events portrayed will be more than familiar to Spanish audiences. However, viewers outside Spain are going to require quite a bit of background information to appreciate the film's ambitious attempt to depict the aftermath of the attacks -- and to do so through the voice of Pilar Manjón.
All in all, this is an important documentary for Spain (a country that has really seen an increase in documentary film production over the last 10 years or so), and especially remarkable considering the young age of the director. I admire Pilar Manjón tremendously, and I hope this film will help direct attention to the cause of her organization.
Please see the Facebook page for
Un largo invierno here (English trailer is available on the FB site).
