Flood Journal (I)

The flood, the ravine, the disaster have changed us all. I have no doubt that this will mark several generations of Valencians for a long time. Because we, the Valencians, will not forget and a disaster like this will remain forever engraved in our collective memory. I hope it’s like that. It’s more that I would have liked it to be like that so that do not fall into oblivion. For my part, I will do everything possible so that the cold drop of October 29, 2024 is not forgotten.

Two years have passed since I wrote my last column in this newspaper. This “Pica in Flanders” which lasted for so many years sleeps in the newspaper archives with a literary vocation, but the water and the mud brought me to this “Cold Drop” which from today will give me the opportunity to tell many things. in this new muddy life we ​​lead. In addition, my long-standing diary gives me the opportunity to share them with you. Together with you. To share their stories, their things, their problems, their sadness and misfortunes and, I hope one day, also some joys.

This column was born with the vocation to give a voice to those who do not have one. I know that maybe a newspaper column isn’t the right place, but maybe this “Gotacold” won’t exactly be a column. So I propose an agreement. I’ll leave you an email here and you tell me your business. So take note: valencia@abc.es. You already know that I am offering you an open window that I will manage as best I can.

In emergency situations, the most valuable people are those who help without anyone asking. Thousands of volunteers came without asking for anything in return. THANKS. I also believe that once the first phase of everyone for themselves and everyone together has passed, everyone must help as best they can, in what they do best. It took me 25 days to get to the keyboard because I was in the mud, but now I’m getting to work on a task that I set as a must. Avoid forgetting and keep the focus on our cities and our inhabitants. For justice. Out of necessity. So that all this is not forgotten.

I told them that this flood had changed us all. When the water took away our lives and our reality that night, each of us experienced it in a different way and under different circumstances, but we all saw, experienced, heard and felt the same thing. And that will not change, no matter how much time passes or no matter how much that time creates a veil of forgetting.

There is an indisputable truth. Here we know what happened, how it happened, what happened in the days that followed. We know that the alerts arrived late or did not arrive at all. We know that it is not easy to distinguish between warnings and alerts, because these things are very well understood at height, but on the street what matters is that they happen. We know that in L’Horta Sud and La Ribera it did not rain. Four drops maximum. We also know that it was raining up there. Several liters per square meter. Those of us who come from the regions below know that we experienced terrible times up there. That there are villages devastated by the waters of the Magro and by ravines like Poyo or Chiva. And we also know that the water suddenly rosein a matter of minutes, without giving many people time to react.

Above all, there is something that we will not forget. The dead. And there are many. Just one lost life would be enough to remain forever engraved in our memory. But many people died. And it’s not just a number on a list of victims. They have a first and last name. and families. And they had a life. This is why they deserve respect. Because pain deserves respect. Because absence cannot be inhabited by contempt or stupidity.

I thought about this a lot between stomach aches, anxiety attacks, sleepless nights and racing heartbeat. And I know we are all the same, walking in horror, astonishment, pain and indignation as we guide our steps through the mud. Still, I can’t avoid a sticky feeling of abandonment. No matter how much they want to convince us otherwise, we Valencians feel alone. And it’s curious to know that we feel this loneliness before, during and after.

We realized later what we had before, because even if everything is normal, things are going well and seem to be going by themselves, but when you are in deep water, you miss someone at the head of the Generalitat . And we feel alone.

We realize this every day when we see that there is a lack of hands, a lack of machines, a lack of means and a lack of will. And this scares us, because no matter what they tell us, no matter how much they give us figures and reports and no matter how much the Spanish government tries to convince us, it is impossible to fight against feelings. Although when we tell them that they lose their temper and get nervous, we Valencians feel alone.

Political leaders will have to do a lot of teaching to let’s get out of the mud while we get out of the mud. There are no lies worse than half-truths, and here in the cities devastated by the cold drop, people know they are in the middle of a shameful political struggle that leads nowhere- beyond the clean carpets of the corridors of power, while here we walk on very slippery mud that smells bad. It’s rubbish.

Let us remember that no one forgets that thousands of people know what they saw, remember what happened, see what is happening and know perfectly well what is happening. No story will prevail over the truth.