<![CDATA[Ara Balears in English - Pere Perelló]]> 10 <![CDATA[The children of the moon]]> While in the streets of the neighborhoods and villages of Mallorca we relived the Passion of Jesus Christ and from the chimneys the scents of the "panades" (a type of pastry) and "rubiols" (a type of sweet pastry) emerged, thousands of visitors and tourists were descending at full speed, with vans and black SUVs, from the Tizi n'Tichka pass towards the desert, there, in the immense snowy mountain ranges of the African Atlas. What were those visitors looking for?Through the vehicles' speakers, catchy, modern, and rhythmic music played, a little hypnotic. It was by the Amazigh group Tarwa N Ayur, with the voice of singer Sarah Mou. That mysterious afrofusion rhythm would accompany them to the dunes of Erg Chebbi – known for their golden sand and for being among the highest in Morocco –, just outside Merzouga and Khamlia.The young guides and drivers, many of them Amazigh, while driving, hummed the lyrics that Sarah Mou was setting to music; a song titled Amoudou especially motivated them.Let's walk together on this journey,children of the earth and of the moon,we carry the strength of fathers,and not even the desert wind will stop us.Before 1936, route 9, which goes from Marrakech to Ouarzazate, did not exist. The French colonial troops – with the 4th Regiment of the Foreign Legion – took the lead in this work, which lasted a good handful of years. Obviously, the Amazigh population of the immense and white mountains threw themselves into it.Without the road, there were only narrow paths and rock passages, suitable only for mules and donkeys, because camels were too cold during the frequent snowfalls. For centuries, the slow caravans of the children of the moon had to risk themselves in silence through the snow to bring their goods to Marrakesh and Casablanca.That road had colonial purposes of dominion, but the current one brings two worlds closer, especially two cultures – the Arab and the Amazigh – separated by nature, tradition, and identity. It should be remembered that the Amazigh people are much older than the arrival of the Arabs in these territories. They managed – the Amazigh – an almost unique feat: after the arrival and embrace of Islam, they managed to have their own Koranic school; we know them as the followers of Malek or Malikis, in which their identity, tradition, and customs have had their own space that has endured to this day.Talking about civilizations would be too daring, but we can talk about culture. The route to the black desert, the city of Zagora and the Todra gorges opened the doors to the knowledge of Amazigh culture for us. So intimate, attractive, different, and mysterious for us Westerners.In our case, the Amazigh people of the Rif had arrived in Mallorca around the year 1981 approximately, and their number continued to increase over the years. We must point out, however, that the Amazigh people do not form a strictly homogeneous group. Geography and history have played their part and have fostered nuances among them. To understand this, and since we were talking about music at the beginning, we can use it as an example of these specific traits.The music of the southern Amazigh people –Agadir, desert, Atlas– has slow, almost hypnotic rhythms; repetition is frequent with a mantra effect, and the atmosphere it generates is open, contemplative, almost spiritual. The voices are soft but deep – that of Sarah Mou–, singing to the inner soul. The themes usually speak of the journey, the path through the desert of life, of the land, the people, time, and the moon. The group Tarwa N Ayur –the children of the moon– would be a good representative of this archetype. On the other hand, in the Rif region –our Amazigh people of Mallorca– they tend to have faster, more marked rhythms, less repetitive, more direct and lively. They are usually more festive, even combative, types of music. The voices are usually strong, assertive. They speak of daily life, emigration, social difficulties, and a more explicit identity.At this point I like to recall that the name of the mosque in sa Pobla is Ibno Amazic –sons of the Amazigh people–; obviously, when officials from the Moroccan consulate in Palma arrive for a visit, they raise their eyebrows and wrinkle their noses. Differences enrich a people; homogenizations kill it. While the south sings and looks inward, the Amazigh of the north sing outward, away from themselves. Both employ metaphorical and evocative languages. Both refer to images of the moon, the wind, the path, difficulties, mountains, and the desert.When I was preparing this article, I was surprised by the little information available online about the musical ensemble and the soloist who accompanied us throughout the text. Curiously, they have developed part of their project in international circuits, always taking care and seeking songs deeply rooted in Amazigh culture, language, and spirituality. Now I understand that this fact explains many things. Many Amazigh artists prioritize the community, the people, and music above their own individual selves.I think, and I am convinced, that the sounds of the desert are imperceptible to our Western ears. We tend to listen and feel outwards and not inwards. Curiously, Saint Augustine of Hippo, most likely a 4th-century Berber, worked and preached from a thought in which the need for travel always leads inwards: “Do not go outside; go inside yourself. In the inner man dwells truth.”A mystical thought and need, understood by the Amazigh people since antiquity.The Balearic people of Catalan culture feel identified with the Amazigh people; we understand each other. Two peoples, without a nation-state, with a clear linguistic and identity decline. In constant struggle for survival. Attacked by other peoples, with other ways of understanding the world, who need to expand and control their neighbors in order not to die. What were those visitors looking for? They were looking for the children of the moon.

]]> <![CDATA[Ca na Beatriu: The future interpretation center of the Albufera Natural Park]]>

It was the gateway to paradise. Fresh, crystalline water, all shades of green, and fruit trees of every kind. It was, and is, right next to the Estella canal and the Company road. They called it Ca na Beatriu. The young couple spent their summers there, too hot in the city and in sa Pobla. In the summer house, one could hear the waves of the sea, of that immense, blue bay. The first tree they planted there was a cherry tree, as a symbol of purity –for its white blossom– and of love and fertility –for its intense red fruit. They had recently married in London, after meeting at the theatre owned by Mr. Aubyn, at 15 Bedford Row. In the fertile, black lands of l'Albufera, a cherry tree suggested the longed-for paradise or the desired reward. At Ca na Beatriu, the lady –as the Company laborers called her– commanded the ancient rhythm of the sleeping water.

]]> <![CDATA[What if we reopen Sant Miquel de Campanet?]]> In Brigida

]]> <![CDATA[The Sufis of Sa Pobla. "A discreet presence"]]> At dawn, the first shadows fall on the train station plaza. They are cold and sleepy, their faces show it, their steps are slow. They look for a pebble to sit on or, standing straight ahead, they wait. To the left, the Amazigh of the Rift Valley; to the right, the people from Senegal. They all hope to find work in Marjal or in a garden by the bay. To work for a few coins they will shake with hands weathered by the desert.What time?The sound of a voice can be heard from further away. To avoid fights over a crust of bread, they divided up the space. Those who come to the plaza are almost always the newest arrivals. They don't speak, they don't understand; they say yes to almost everything, they don't complain. They have a gleam in their eyes, their hearts beat with anticipation of their uncertain future, while silently they think of their families, those they left behind at their parents' house.

]]> <![CDATA[Elsie Clews Parsons]]> The locomotive was a Nasmyth & Wilson Class 25. Its wheel arrangement was 2-2-0; that is, it had two leading front axles, two driving axles, and no rear axles. It was actually a tender locomotive, meaning it carried both coal and water on the same chassis, and therefore didn't have a separate tender car towed by larger locomotives. It began to slip on the wet tracks with a squeal of iron on iron; a thick cloud of black smoke filled the platforms of Palma Central Station. The walls and floor were covered in fine soot that got into the nose.

]]> <![CDATA[Where is the soul of Sa Pobla?]]> During the Spanish Civil War and the years that followed, the market square of Sa Pobla and a timber warehouse facing it were the scene of one of the harshest and cruelest repressions the town has ever experienced. Can Garroví—as the timber warehouse was called—and the entire square were surrounded by barbed wire to confine the forced labor battalion assigned to build a railway for military use that was to connect Sa Pobla with Alcúdia. In reality, we had a concentration camp made up of some two hundred soldiers who had been loyal to the Republic. More than prisoners, they lived there for nearly three years as slaves, and the market square was their world and epicenter.

]]> <![CDATA[Mass sung by Gatamoix]]>

We humans are the sum of the stories we have inherited and those we have lived. We are also the stories of others. Today we want to share a special, different story: that of people who lived and died in the agricultural colony of Gatamoix at the end of the 19th century. We also want to tell you the odyssey of the La Trobe-Bateman family, English people who came from Northern Europe, who built, furnished, and maintained the colony until, in December 1893, they had to return to London and leave the houses and land they had built in the hands of others. So much life and death have been given to us throughout time.

]]> <![CDATA[Social manipulation and synthetic reality]]> Many families don't suspect that they're living with digital trolls and coordinated bots in their homes and that their teenage children have become night owls on Vox's farms. We were taught that realities were either objective or subjective; today our children have transformed them into synthetic ones. Therefore, we shouldn't be surprised that in the next elections (whatever they may be), despite having raised young people within a moderate center-right environment or a domesticated or liquefied socialism, young people will overwhelmingly vote for the far right. What's happening? What's happening to us? Is it happening all over the Western world? When and how did this process of manipulation begin? Who are the people, or are they, who are running this global network? What's their profile?

]]> <![CDATA[Civil Protection, facing human weaknesses]]> This summer has been quite complicated in the world of Civil Protection. We have been able to confirm, once again and at all levels, that we have quality emergency systems and civil protection, both in terms of human and material resources, coordination, intelligence, and operational capacity. But, for the umpteenth time, we citizens have had to endure statements and arguments from some politicians and parties that embarrass us. They seem to think that anything goes if they can wear down or discredit their opponent. They often act with a childish and clumsy outlook, with a short-sighted vision: they only look out for their own interests and those of their party, never looking out for society as a whole. And while we waste energy on this miserable obsession, we citizens are forced to put up with it, instead of focusing—all of us—on what really matters: the protection of people, property, and the environment.

]]> <![CDATA[We feel like wrecks of the Government, Madam President!]]> When the news of the train to Sa Pobla arrived, we were unaware of the summer that awaited us. That's life. If the study and the train layout had been carried out with care and sensitivity toward the people and the territory, surely no one would have said much, but no, that wasn't the case. Two red lines crisscrossed and ruthlessly dissected the flat lands of Marjal. At any price? We said no on the first day. The Government hadn't brought us the train we needed; it had presented us with what it wanted us to have. No one from the Directorate General for Mobility or the SFM, during this term, was interested enough to conduct a review and realize the dangers this study entailed. The paradox is that the work was contracted to Ayesa in January 2023, incredible but true.

]]> <![CDATA[The Marjal train]]> These days of fighting against this train-like train they want to impose on us, I've thought a lot about my mother and father. I suppose the same thing happens to you. Their worries, their dreams, that extreme work from dawn to dusk. Their determination to get ahead, to float. Hours and hours of work and suffering... often just to survive and be able to pay four bills. What would they say if they were alive? I believe, I am convinced, that we draw strength from their memory and their legacy. Cati Mayol wrote a phrase on the Civic Platform's Facebook page, which says: "This group was born from the love for their land and the urgent need to protect what we are." With a single phrase, she captured the essence of the world we believe in and that sustains us. Don't give up... together we can stop this madness.

]]>