When people ask me about my time in Spain this past summer, it’s interesting to me which details emerge in sharp relief upon retelling. There are the small things, like which bus line I took from my host family’s apartment to get into the main casco, the taste of pig ear and its unsettling texture, the freak torrential downpour that struck as I once again found myself lost in the maze of Toledo’s streets. These things alone shaped my time in Spain, but they also fit into a set of larger experiences that have the potential to change my ideas.
One experience in particular always comes to mind when discussing my summer; namely, the abdication of the king and the subsequent round of demonstrations and discussions centered on this historic event. My group from Princeton received the news just before it was set to spend the weekend in Madrid, and I did not personally recognize the significance of an embattled and unpopular leader passing on his power to his son. I didn’t see the political and historical context for what would follow until my host mother and father discussed it in depth at the dinner table.
Juan Carlos I was the monarch put into power by General Franco at the end of his dictatorship decades ago; Juan Carlos has since ruled in times of economic crisis that have left many from older generations longing for the sense of stability that they previously had and many younger people clamoring for a true republic. The latter saw their moment in the chaos of the transition and began to call for a referendum on whether or not to keep the monarchy intact. They took to the streets of all the major cities, and I was lucky enough to see one such demonstration in the heart of the largest plaza in Madrid.
People flooded into the space, holding tricolor flags of the Second Spanish Republic and signs decrying the royal family. Having heard of violence erupting in the streets of Barcelona in previous days, I was not expecting the relative calm of the scene before me. While people talked in a way that almost charged the air, they did so casually seated by fountains and lounging against lampposts. A 20-something woman handed a sign that, translated, read “King, No!” to a toddler. A newscaster mingled with the crowd. There was no alarm, just pure energy aimed at enacting change. In a country with similarly poor levels of voter turnout, this stuck with me for reasons that surpassed the immediate impressions I had.
I’ve seen analogous flickers of hope and energy in America in reaction to various causes or campaigns, and I’ve started to wonder if, somehow, such fervor can be maintained beyond these isolated moments. The other day, I heard someone on campus say that, in general, Princetonians are tired both of being passionate about so many issues and, at the same time, somewhat incapable of affecting many of them. I certainly don’t ascribe to the view that change cannot be made, but I can understand the sentiment behind this observation and think that there are truths within it that make the answer to my previous question — whether passion and energy can be maintained over long periods of time — no. This may just be symptomatic of an underlying pessimism on my part, but it’s natural for interest to wane over time, and I think the key to enacting change is to find that one matter that can recapture one’s imagination, even when fatigue sets in.
For many of the Spaniards, the move to a republic was not like this matter; as politicians continuously thwarted efforts for a referendum, the demonstrations began to die down. I think that, as a community, Princeton can learn from this and recognize that it is capable of creating tangible changes, but that these changes are not inevitable given a certain threshold in terms of numbers or initial commitment. By internalizing this, in turn, perhaps we can sustain the momentum of our own movements for years.
Kelly Hatfield is a sophomore from Medford, Mass. She can be reached at kellych@princeton.edu.
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