The other day I was walking in the shade and I found a young bearded and disheveled man lying on the ground, right under my doorway. I didn't know if he was breathing, and he didn't react to my words and stimuli.The neighbor across the street, whom I sometimes see on the terrace and with whom I had not exchanged a single word – perhaps at some point, during COVID-19, when it seemed that the balconies were coming to life – filled me in on the situation. She told me that this boy was not well, that she had seen him pacing around and that he had been sitting there for a while, unconscious. Then I realized that the situation was real. I immediately called the Emergency services.And here comes the least cinematic part of the story. No immediate answers or ambulances flying with sirens blaring. First, the classic answering machine that makes you press numbers as if you were participating in an escape room. Then, when you finally manage to speak to someone, it seems they don't understand you – perhaps because you are speaking to them in your own language; who knows what the mystery is. More waiting, and more waiting, while you already imagine that it will end up becoming a marathon. But, in the end, the reality was much better than I expected. The ambulance arrived in about ten minutes and the professionals acted with great diligence and efficiency.But that is not what left me feeling uneasy.It was the people.Throughout all that time, people kept passing by him. Not one or two people: a good handful. Some changed sidewalks, as if his condition were contagious. Others didn't even lift their eyes from their mobile phones – priorities, you know. No one stopped. No one asked him if he needed help. It was as if that young man were just another trash can on the street, invisible to everyone's eyes. I ask myself: would the same thing have happened if, instead of a young man appearing to be homeless, it had been a child, an elderly woman, or a man in a tie? I don't think so.This has a name: aporophobia.Aporophobia is the rejection of poor people. The term was coined by the philosopher Adela Cortina, combining ‘áporos’ (‘poor’) and ‘phóbos’ (fear). But it is not just a matter of prejudice. It is deeper. Our brain avoids what is uncomfortable and approaches those who can contribute something. And, furthermore, these people remind us of an uncomfortable truth: that we too could end up there. A bad streak, an addiction, a depression… and there we are. No one likes to think about it.The result? Invisibility. Humiliation. People who stop counting. A snake eating its own tail. And yes, we all know what should be done: treat everyone with dignity, do not judge by appearance, do not value people for what they can give us. Easy to say. Difficult to practice.But let's not fool ourselves: this is not just an individual problem, nor is it an issue that depends exclusively on everyone's individual responsibility. It is also—and above all—a political issue. Let me explain. There are those who act as if poverty disappears just by not seeing it. The recipe is simple: remove it from the center, put it out of sight. Evict, displace, and consider the problem solved. But, of course, poverty does not disappear; it simply shifts, almost always towards the usual neighborhoods.And cities are adapting to it. Benches where you cannot lie down, spikes, metal bars… It is what is called hostile architecture. In other words: designing public space so that living in it –or, rather, surviving in it– becomes increasingly difficult for those who do not have a home. The goal is not to solve the problem, but to make it invisible. Like when, as children, we covered our eyes thinking that what scared us would disappear. The difference is that here it is done with public resources. This is the model defended by the PP and Vox.And when this indifference goes one degree further, what happened in Gijón occurs. On November 26, 2022, a person sleeping on the street suffered a brutal assault that the perpetrators recorded and spread on social media. Not for robbery. Not for revenge. For humiliation. Just because. Because they were vulnerable. The viralization of the video led to a citizen complaint that triggered a trial. The positive part of all this –if there is any– is that the response was resounding. The sentence, published a few months ago, recognized aporophobia as a hate crime. An important precedent. Because it makes it clear that these are not isolated cases: it is violence against those who can least defend themselves.When the paramedics took that young man away, I continued home. I don't know what became of him. But I do know what stayed with me: the feeling that the problem is not just poverty, but our brutal capacity to get used to it. Because a society is not defined by how it treats those who succeed, but by how it looks at – or ignores – those who have been left behind. And the day you walk past someone lying on the ground and don't even consider whether they need help, perhaps the problem is no longer just theirs.It is ours.

There are ideas that are born in an office. Others, at a coffee break. And then there are ideas that appear when someone has been thinking about the same question for too long and decides that, instead of continuing to grumble alone, it is better to gather people and have them discuss it in public. The conference "Majorcan identity in the 21st century: continuities, fractures and narratives" undoubtedly belongs to this third category.The event, organized by Professor Ernest Carranza at Can Oleo, in Palma, brought together diverse but very complementary profiles. Thus, Miquel Sbert and Andreu Ramis reflected on the role of traditions in a society in constant transformation; Mercè Picornell offered a particularly suggestive view on new ways of participating in Mallorcan identity; and finally, Antoni Janer coordinated a round table.As often happens with good conversations, the conferences did not end because the arguments had been exhausted, but because the custodians reminded us that, no matter how much we discussed the future of Mallorca, the building closed at a certain hour. And perhaps this is the most important detail of all. Because, beyond the lectures, what was really worthwhile was the conversation.It had been a long time since I had enjoyed a public debate so much. There were few of us, yes, but perhaps that was part of the charm. It wasn't one of those talks where, before sitting down, you already know exactly what they're going to tell you and where everything ends up being a sum of parallel monologues. Something else happened here. That literary atmosphere, which is becoming increasingly difficult to find, was palpable: a space where you can disagree without needing to turn any difference into a trench.I also have to say that I also did my bit with a communication. It was titled Relatos en disputa: history, symbols, and identity in contemporary Mallorca. My intervention started from a very simple idea: identities do not arise spontaneously, but are a social construction. And, precisely for this reason, they are also an object of dispute. In Mallorca, this dispute is visible everywhere. In street names, public signage, at school, on commemorative days, or in the presence of institutional symbols. That "La Balanguera" plays in a supermarket. That a Mallorcan influencer moves naturally through social networks. That a popular festival is perceived as one's own by people of very different profiles. It is here, in these apparently insignificant gestures, where cultural hegemonies are built. This struggle is not divided into two perfectly defined sides. Between Spanish nationalism and Catalan nationalism, we could say. Identity debates, rather, move on a scale of greys. Because reality is much more complex than television often suggests. We all know that in Mallorca you can claim the Catalan language without questioning the current institutional framework; that you can feel Mallorcan and Spanish at the same time; or that you can defend greater self-government without being an independentist, to say something. Deep down, the debate is very simple: who has the capacity to define what Mallorca is?However, it is important not to lose perspective, because there is a fact that is difficult to refute: despite all the nuances, Spanish identity in Mallorca enjoys an enviable health. Its great triumph has been to achieve that, for a large majority of the population, feeling Mallorcan and feeling Spanish are not conflicting identities, but perfectly compatible ones. As historian Ferran Archilés has pointed out, the Spanish national project has not only not failed, but has demonstrated a remarkable capacity for integration, incorporating regional diversity within a narrative widely accepted as natural. And here the big question arises: where is Mallorcan identity heading? The answer is that no one knows for sure. But we do know one thing: identities are not immutable, but rather evolve as societies do. To think that the Mallorca of the future will be exactly the same as today's is as naive as believing that the current Mallorca is the same as that of fifty years ago. What I think could happen is that a 'light' Majorcan identity emerges. Apparently less ideologized, capable of integrating an increasingly diverse society without renouncing a part of the culture and traditions. In this new context, it must be assumed that this new society will inevitably include Majorcans of diverse origins who only speak Spanish. The question that remains to be resolved, in my opinion, is whether these new identities will be reduced to a purely folkloric expression or whether, on the contrary, they will transform into a collective project capable of engaging new generations. This, probably, will depend on what we Majorcanists are capable of doing. 

A few months ago, almost without making a sound —and that should already make you suspicious— a neo-Nazi cell was dismantled in Spain. Three detainees, weapons, training, and attack plans inspired by real massacres. Furthermore, they weren't acting alone: they were connected to an international terrorist network. But well, it seems like a small thing, as the news went largely unnoticed. Perhaps because it doesn't fit with this comfortable narrative we keep telling ourselves. You know, the one that says violence always comes from outside, or that it's a thing of the past. Because, how many times have we heard that the dangers are jihadist terrorism or the environment of the defunct ETA, or –even better– that nothing is happening and we live in a kind of peaceful paradise?... A homemade version of Brave New World, by Huxley.The dismantled group in question has been defined as "accelerationist." The name seems complicated, but the idea is quite simple: to provoke chaos so that everything explodes and, once the system is broken, impose their own. And their model is not exactly inclusive: it is a racist, neoliberal, and authoritarian world. All very sophisticated on paper… and very dangerous in practice.And no, we are not talking about four people making comments on the internet or discussing in the bar. We are talking about connected people, with very clear ideas and with the will to make them a reality. People who see in social unrest and the rise of certain political discourses an opportunity. And this is no longer a joke.Violence is never justified. But to understand these small groups, perhaps we need to look at the context. Crises have been accumulating for years: economic, social, climatic. And in this framework, working classes have it increasingly difficult, and many people simply cannot make ends meet. Meanwhile, politics often seems more focused on managing the present than on building any future. And on a global scale, the panorama doesn't help either: an increasingly violent world, with powers like the United States, Russia, and Israel playing at showing strength in conflicts that many of us wouldn't even know how to place on the map.In this scenario, the result is predictable: frustration, uncertainty, and little hope. And when this happens, simple discourses gain ground. Those that offer easy explanations and even easier culprits. And, curiously, they almost always point to the same people: the most vulnerable. It is much more comfortable to say that "the problem is outsiders" than to analyze what is really wrong. Besides, acting brave by saying "uncomfortable truths" is successful. And so, little by little, a climate that fuels hatred is normalized.This process is subtle. Thus, what previously seemed exaggerated is now discussed. And what is discussed today may end up being normal tomorrow. Without major scandals, without obvious ruptures. Everything shifts a little. And it doesn't move on its own: there are those who push it, from certain media to certain powers that be. Faced with this, the question is inevitable: who benefits from all this?Because, generated according to certain breeding grounds, it is not surprising that some take a further step. They are not the majority, but they are not isolated cases either. Let's be clear that it is increasingly common for these discourses to end in real aggressions. The data confirm this, racist and xenophobic violence is increasing. And there are figures that are particularly striking: according to the Ministry of the Interior, approximately half of homosexual people have suffered some aggression in the last year. Half. It is not an exaggeration, it is a reality.In fact, alarms have been sounding for some time. In the United States, the FBI itself has already warned that far-right violent groups are one of the main internal threats. In Europe, the numbers may seem calmer. Europol's TE-SAT report says that in 2023 there were 120 terrorist actions, mostly of a separatist nature. Far-right ones? Only two, and they were thwarted. Case closed, right? Well, not exactly. Because the same report explains –perhaps with fewer headlines– that the problem is not so much the quantity as the type. It talks about lone wolves, small groups, young people who not only consume propaganda but create it and, sometimes, act. It is a more diffuse model, more difficult to detect and prevent. Less classical structure, more improvised radicalization. And what is more serious: it is a violence that is increasing. But yes, relax, there were only two.Faced with all this, the conclusion is clear: democracy is not guaranteed. It is not a permanent state, but a fragile balance. If we stop questioning certain discourses or attitudes, we end up accepting them without realizing it. And when this happens, the door can be opened to barbarism.All of this recalls that poem by Martin Niemöller which ends by saying: "When they came for me, there was no one left to protest." Perhaps we don't need to wait to see if it also affects us to start worrying. Let's think about it twice.

Trade unionism needs a profound overhaul. And the country's trade unionism—the pro-sovereignty one; the pro-Catalan one; the one from here, if you understand what I mean—even more so. I haven't said anything you don't already know. Who joins a union today? You don't have to be a genius to realize that labor associations are trapped in dynamics that don't always respond to workers' problems. We have many symptoms of this situation. The fact that last May Day there was no demonstration or significant event by pro-sovereignty unions is a clear example of this. On the day the world of labor celebrates its annual liturgy, "our" people weren't there. And the most serious thing is that no one noticed, no one was surprised, no one was scandalized. Indifference has taken hold on the pro-sovereignty left, and this is very dangerous.

A few days ago I received an interview published in the newspaper Berria starring Irish sociolinguist Conchúr Ó Giollagáin. The name may sound unfamiliar, but the man is no amateur: born in Dublin in 1966, he's a professor of Gaelic research at the University of the Scottish Highlands and Islands, a veteran of minority language studies. In short, he knows what he's talking about.

There are times when, in order to grow, it's necessary to kill the father, that's how it is. Not out of hatred or contempt, but out of liberation. Mallorcanism must do it, and quickly. Because whether we like it or not, it still functions with ideas inherited from the Transition. A time when it seemed everything was possible... and then it wasn't so much. We keep repeating rituals that give us a false sense of coherence—what demonstrations we organized! What speeches!—while the real country falls apart in our hands.