In the early hours of January 9, 1959, the Vega de Tera Dam burst due to extremely heavy rains, unleashing its full force on the small town of Ribadelago, costing the lives of 144 residents, almost half of its population. It was ten years before I was born, but the memory of my first steps in Sanabria is marked by demolished houses, rubble, silence, whispered words and an army of crosses on the grounds, in the open, where one day there was life. and joy. Zamora, my beautiful and patient Sanabria, was national and international news, even though the Ministry of Press advised silencing the voices of the dead and the living. The flame of solidarity that ignited like wildfire ended up going out, until the world ignored the night of “that”, the cans of powdered milk and the wool blankets. There was no one responsible. Silence and oblivion returned like a stone to Ribadelago, compensations were lost along the way and the survivors learned to get back up, resurrected from a hell of water that destroyed everything in its path. 65 years have passed since this catastrophe which marked a before and after in hydraulic policy and in the dams that General Franco inaugurated in black and white in No-Do. The dead were buried under the cold waters of Lake Sanabria, a cemetery of solitude, as in any tragedy, the harsh reality, so many deaths, was a slap in the conscience, in the hearts of the people, who stretched out their arms magnets towards him. the victims and their families, sheltering in this freezing month of January their lack of everything, the nakedness of their feet, their broken souls. Policies, standards and forecasts have changed, we have reached the Moon and the 21st, but Nature continues to lash out, teaching us how small we are, how fragile the all-powerful man is in the face of his whims. Today as then, both. The Spains emerge without wars: those who curse their luck and those who, despite everything, celebrate their lives; those who run to help and those who take the opportunity to rob those who have already lost everything, disgusting looters; the sympathizers and the scoundrels; those who add and those who do not know how to measure themselves; those who abjure and those who bless their God; those who look to the future with hope and those who feel that the waters have also taken away their lives; those who demand and those who appreciate, those who take a step forward and those who step back. Two Spains, heads and tails, which bring out the worst and the best in each; this incredulous time when thousands of young volunteers give us back the dignity of being, this good Spain, white shirt of our hope, that I love so much.
