My Beautiful Tale

Let me tell you a story—one that is happening right now, in real time, as you can see for yourself. I hope you like it.

In a place where the banks and the feudal lords rule over everything, there lives a great landowner. A lord, who forced a queen to marry him, with violence. A queen who became a servant, and who has been punished ever since just for being refusing to relinquish her identity. 

"It is unacceptable that she's not more like me!" yells the lord, as he strides the corridors of his palace. 

Every day he binds her hand and foot, and tells her the way she has to behave, the way she has to speak, the way she has to be. Once, she tried to explain to him that she was different and that they could be happy just by sharing what each one of them was. Outraged at hearing such a stupid proposal, he made a heavy chain for her and named it Constitution, and so she was turned into a mere servant and disposessed of her noble name, Catalunya.

"I do not want a bright and beautiful woman! I don't want to see her being unique and charming!" said the lord in front of his colleagues, over their drinks. "I want a woman to obey my orders. To sit at my feet. I've given her my name to try to make her understand that she's a part of me and can't disobey. If she believes that, it'll be over. She'll be forever mine, a small part of the great lord. And I've got a perfect plan. Come, come closer and I'll tell you.

"Every single day I steal what she harvests from her fields and I put some of her own food in a dish, enough to keep her alive but too little to make her feel strong. She could try to escape! Ha! What do you think? This way, I keep her coming back but with her head down, begging for some food. Her own food! Isn't it fantastic? Hey! And here comes the best part: She has to obey my every command in order to keep finding those crumbs in her dish. So far it works amazingly well, she believes she has no other option. I've been keeping her under lock and key for so long that she no longer remembers what it is to be free. Oh! Sometimes she dreams, yes, but then I whip her so she remembers her place.

"And you're not going to believe this, but I've got many other women like her. Some of them were also queens and princesses, others were humble but beautiful maidens. You'd love to see how they kneel and cry and humiliate themselves when I tie them up, restrain them with my Constitution. Some of them don't remember anymore that they were noble and powerful, some of them don't remember their language or traditions, and practically know nothing of their past as individuals.

"Isn't it just perfect?" asked the landlord, amidst the applause of his peers.

But he did not know, and he still doesn't—yet—that, in silence, Catalunya nurtures her dreams of freedom, a feeling that suffuses her with happiness and joy . She imagines herself harvesting her own wheat, talking to people in her own language, in her own kingdom, with her own customs, always with a smile on her face, abundance and prosperity flowing from her hands. She imagines herself running free through fields of wheat, breaking the chain and traveling beyond forests and mountains, just as far as she wants, knowing that the only limit will be her imagination.

And you probably don't know that you can work every day for her identity, language, culture and freedom. And you probably don't know that there are some magic words that give her strength when she's sad. So if you still have doubts, repeat with me, first softly if you need to: Long live free Catalunya... and then stronger, louder, until the earth trembles:

Long live free Catalunya!

I do it every day -  and I know, for sure, that she will soon be free.

Joan Baró.
@Rodamusic