It is not the manual of direct action: it is the violence that we have accepted for years without protesting

The publication of the Manual of Action Against Touristification has, in recent days, provoked an avalanche of headlines, newspaper front pages, radio talk shows, and unprecedented reactions, condemnations, and warnings. There has been talk of radicalization, incitement to damage, vandalism, and even a threat to coexistence and security (we should ask ourselves, from whom). But very few voices have stopped to ask a preliminary question: what exactly do we mean by violence, and who has the power to exercise it, against what and against whom.

Suddenly, voices emerge that distance themselves, condemn, and hide behind grand moralistic and bombastic phrases, desperately seeking the legitimacy they feel they might lose if they dare to touch the imposed order: we can "criticize" and pretend to get angry, carry out "nice" actions and performative mobilizations that don't hurt anyone, that annoy a little, at most, but we must contain the real manifestations of this discontent, lest "the masters" get angry.

The core issue – although it could also be discussed and would be quite interesting – is not whether it was the right time, the right way, or the danger of interpreting – always in a Manichean way – these kinds of proposals, with threats even of criminal complaints from those who profit from it. Whether it will be used politically or whether this delegitimizes and fractures the movement (however, movements are constantly exposed to this). The issue is not whether it is legitimate to put silicone in a lock or paint a property intended for illegal tourist rental, but why these actions awaken immediate alarm, while other forms of violence, infinitely deeper and more devastating, have been normalized to the point of no longer being perceived as such. And the issue is also how far they think people are capable of enduring without exploding.

For years, Mallorca has been subjected to an accelerated process of "touristification" that expels the population from neighborhoods, turns housing into a financial asset, exhausts water resources, degrades ecosystems, and precariates the living conditions of thousands of people. This violence is not spectacular. It does not appear with sirens or broken windows. It perpetuates itself slowly. It is executed from offices, boards of directors, and institutions that, by action or omission, allow business and the devastation of the material conditions for life to continue advancing on rights that should be unquestionable and on the natural heritage (water, fertile soil, biodiversity…) that enables the cycle of life, under increasingly extreme social and environmental conditions.

But it is when citizens decide to disobey, even if non-violently, that the problem seems to arise. And I ask myself, at what point has the need to accuse made some forget where we come from and also forget that the direct action the manual talks about is non-violent direct action (NVDA) about which we have read so much theory, done so many workshops – from social movements –, and which has allowed, on previous occasions, to stop the advance of devastating projects? Nothing new has been invented. NVDA is part of the history of social movements around the world and also of the recent history of Mallorca. Without direct action, probably today Dragonera would be a luxury housing development. Without people willing to occupy spaces, physically prevent certain works, and assume personal risks, many of the ecological victories we applaud today simply would not exist. The mobilizations to save Trenc, the protests against destructive infrastructures, and so many other campaigns to defend the territory have always combined various forms of struggle: institutional proposals, legal resources, pedagogy, demonstrations, creativity, and when all this was not enough, civil disobedience. It is precisely this tradition that the platform Menys Turisme, Més Vida (Less Tourism, More Life) claims when it publishes a Manual of action against touristification.

It is not a call to violence. On the contrary. It is about channeling the existing discontent and anger in an increasingly punitive and adverse context. For years, the platform has been collecting the growing discontent of a society that sees how massive mobilizations, political proposals, meetings with institutions, and informative campaigns are ignored. Social demands are accumulating while public policies continue to deepen the same model that caused the crisis.

When institutions cease to be useful spaces for channeling social conflicts, other forms of collective action inevitably emerge. Civil disobedience is not a failure of democracy. It is often a symptom of the failure of institutions to listen to citizens. Naturally, there are limits. That is precisely why we speak of non-violent direct action. The acronym NVDA is not a minor detail. It defines a way of understanding political conflict, based on direct intervention on the mechanisms that generate the problem, but which avoids any aggression towards people. Damaging an object is not the same as assaulting a person. Temporarily interrupting an activity is not the same as condemning a growing part of the population to be unable to live in their own territory.

Graffiti is news. A family having to leave their neighborhood because the owner converts the building into tourist accommodation seems to be part of the natural order of things. Putting silicone in the lock of an illegal tourist dwelling generates indignant editorials. That administrations maintain a perfectly identified illegal offering for years, on the other hand, provokes surprising resignation. It is not surprising that a part of society has decided to stop relying exclusively on institutional channels. What would be strange is that, faced with a crisis of this magnitude, discontent would not end up seeking new forms of expression. Discrediting any form of direct action only serves to avoid the important debate: why do more and more people feel that conventional avenues are no longer sufficient?

Mallorcan society will continue to mobilize. It will do so in the streets, in assemblies, with political proposals, and also by claiming the long tradition of civil disobedience that has helped protect the territory when institutions have not. Because the question we should ask ourselves is not whether a manual is too radical or whether it should not have been made public; the question is how much structural violence we must continue to accept before understanding that defending the right to live with dignity in Mallorca is also a way of protecting democracy.