Feeling, anger and information. Sergio Ramirez And Elvira Lindothe person as a Nicaraguan stripped of his nationality, but not of his language, by the satrap who governs his country, and his fellow Spaniard, originally from Cadiz, were responsible for giving the personal outcry with which he began Monday morning Ninth Congress of the Spanish Language.
they went with Luis Garcia MonteroThe poet who directs Cervantes Institutethose who appealed to feelings (in Ramirez’s case, to anger, too) to explain language, the language they speak, the language they write, the language they care about and share, as a way of life and as an inalienable gift even to death.
The information was in charge of academic Soledad PuertolasWhich revealed the importance of the word I am of mixed race Through history after the discoveries. The issue will be central to these academic discussions, and she has made it clear to her colleagues the importance of respecting those who are not, or should not have been, different in the world today.
The other part of the information, he spoke patiently and cheerfully, as if before an audience of fellows, had been supplied by him King Philip VI. King coming from Santo Domingo from a political meeting, He countered his academic commitment to the quality of a journalistwhich shouldn’t cost you because you have a journalist at home.
The King, like a reporter who knows one by one, explained the different challenges to the Spanish language, common to three continents, the different cases experienced by successive congresses of this kind. Since it started after the Seville World Fair, in 1992, until then which are celebrated in Cadiz and which had to be produced in Arequipa (Peru)from where “the circumstances & rdquor; that occurred in that country advised not to do so because of the” situation & rdquor;.
The enthusiasm of the host mayor
The starting signal, before these other parliaments, was given by the most daring mayor in Spain, Jose Maria Gonzalez SantosNicknamed “Kichi”And who spoke from Cádiz that he is, as if reproducing the original words that these days adorn the houses and squares of this city also called Tacita de Plata. ‘Kichi’ used those words which are only from Cádiz, and mixed them with the civic virtues characteristic of the place (identity, character, humour), and said with these words, he found himself ‘enthusiastic, very excited, about his arrival &rdquor. applaud him as if he had prolonged the music (Love’s Magician) that sounded in the hall of Manuel de Falla Before addressing the kings and academics to explain to them (“Señores y señoras, boys and girls”; that’s what he said) why Cadiz is a happy city.
Luis García Montero, director of the Cervantes Institute, once again brought the feeling, endless resonance of Raphael Alberti, Ms. “The sea. The sea / The sea. Only the sea! / Why did you, Daddy, bring me to town? & rdquor; exiled Alberti, exiled Sergio Ramirez (Gioconda BaileyThe poetess, who had recently been dispossessed by Ortega, meditated from the fund of the chronicle of her drama), the republican exile, in the words of the poet from Granada to chart a public record of the exiles.
There is also language against satraps, and good use of language for freedom. This is what will happen at this conference, he said, on “the intermingling of cultures, sea or sea through & rdquor;” These elements “help us make sense of all the essential debates inherited from the twentieth century through language and culture, and broadened with the digital transformation of the twentieth century.
Then the King would entrust him with more tasks, but this is how the person in charge of Cervantes finished his vadamecum in favor of the word, taking advantage of the “Kichi” taste: “If we talk about multiculturalism and language, I would like this Congress to ratify one of the most popular mottos of the Cádiz Football Club : “The battle is not negotiated.” So be it.
Even Elvira Lindo crooned on stage, after García Montero, like a grammatical figure from Andalusia, was evoked by this nonchalant Lola Flores, “If you love me, go away.” The writer, born in Cadiz, went with Andalusian musicians to Havana to naturalize the sound that accompanies these two similar cities.
She summoned her parents (her father, very young), who received her here as if it were a gift from royalty. It was in Cadiz that he learned the joke, which he never lost (and this is in his manner of speaking and in his books). She even made her “favorite daughter & rdquor; by this fact from Cadiz she has been all over the world since 1962. She is from Cádiz,” and being from here & rdquor; It is her identity, daughter of an ‘outdoor’ city where there is no purity. “And why not do it for Cadiz & rdquor ;,” he cried, “the intangible heritage of mankind! & rdquor ;.
Discrimination and denial
Mestizo society for a long time, as Soledad Portolas immediately said about the results of the centuries-old struggle against discrimination, a battle that, as the Cuban Gaston Baquero said in the middle of the twentieth century, “led not to confrontation but to the accumulation of wealth & rdquor;.” The academic said that wealth is Diversity.” Assuming that our intermingling is our life.
Sergio Ramirez’s speech was leather and soul, and his speech drove both. Thrown into exile before Daniel OrtegaHe ignored this proper noun because he joined him with other dictators, like this one, they were in Nicaragua that he loves, and their language is the language of that common homeland that he now shares, for example, in Spain, and he works from here on to continue saying “what the tyrants did not want to hear And they wanted to excommunicate him.”
In the wake of other exiles, those persecuted by the Nazis, those mistreated in Poland, those who fled from those who made Russia a worse homeland for them, the exiles from Spain and Latin America, say with him, this he said, to the end: “If I were from Nicaragua , I am so in a way a person could not be anything else. Nicaragua is my language, the language in everyone’s mouth, from which there is no possible exile, because language takes me everywhere, takes me away from prisons and exiles, and sets me free. Language that no one can take from me, and no one can exclude me from. The language that is my homeland & rdquo;.
On the balcony opposite, the journalist could see the sympathetic eyes of Gioconda Belli.
Then Director of the Language Academy and President of Hispanic-American Fellows, Santiago Muñoz Machado, recounting the history of the ancient relationship of the common language, the Secretary of State, José Luis Albarez, emphasized the political virtue posited by the universal patronage of the language, but the King was the most educated, the most journalistic, and the most accurate. .
Start working, he said, to make the 21st century “the Spanish century.” It’s ‘Spanish time’. He barely reads, staring at the academic audience. It’s a lesson they’ve already learned, at least since 1992, when these conferences began saying in different Spanish dialects from all over the world that language unites and liberates.
Speech by Sergio Ramirez
“The language that is my country”
In memory of Jorge Edwards, Cervantes Prize for Literature
Near Lake Xolotlán in Nicaragua, you can see footprints left in the mud 2,000 years ago. Feet of adults and children who witness their escape from a volcanic eruption, rivers of lava, a sky on fire, the earth that trembles.
Since then, we have always been running away from something, like earthquakes, hurricanes, civil wars, tyrants clinging to power, the first being Pedrarias Davila, Foror Domini, who died at the age of 91, who had a Requiem sung every year, lying on the rock of the cathedral on the main altar of the cathedral of Lyons, where he would ascend to order the pursuit of disobedient Indians; And after five hundred years, the tyrant, who is himself and the other, continues to grow old in his bed and on his throne, and strays from his commandments and arbitrariness, the owner of lives and property, continues to impose silence, fills prisons, rules on exile, a face superimposed on the old face in the illusion of centuries.
The educated wrote the constitutions and laws of the illiterate tyrants, and the paper republics hid the evil apparatus of despotism that was never enlightened. And weapons have always been paid for by letters fighting for freedom, because the profession of writing is free by nature, and when it wants to be absolute, it hides a grudge against the imagination, which is free and decisive. Of force, contradictory, and rebellious against slavery by nature.
Because they have no sense of humor, tyranny punishes jokes and fiction in novels by ordering them to be banned, and whoever writes them must pay with exile, facing the claim that they want to take away your country, erase your history and your place. Your birth, your memory, your past and your words, because, in the delirium of volatile tyranny that grips the heads of tyrants, they think their power makes you disappear, as in one of Camacha de Mantilla’s incantations, a witch Dogs seminarwhich “He would freeze the clouds when he wanted, and cover the face of the sun with them, and when he felt like it, he would make the most troubled sky quiet.”
But the words of books will always be there, hard and luminous, hard and sharp, and will always come back to our eyes each time we open a book that has been banned again, to tell us again what tyrants are, of their evil dreams. Greatness and power, they do not want to hear, or forbid.
“Little book, you will go, without being forbidden or accompanied, to Rome, where, alas, your author cannot penetrate it. A part without embellishment, as befits a son of exile … ”Ovid sings in Sorrowfrom his exile in Pontus Euxino.
“The salesmen will refuse us. The SS Stormtroopers will smash shop windows and mldr; the word is dead, and the men bark like dogs.”Joseph Roth wrote in a letter to Stefan Zweig in October 1933, with more than divine power to the impending Nazi catastrophe, to surround and cut lives and burn words on a fire.
“My faithful tongue / I have served you. / […] I was my homeland, because I was missing any … ”Czes ł aw Mi & lstrok; osz, Condemned not to be in Poland, because all his books were banned, he was sentenced to exile.
But it is impossible to erase the words. “Literature is the only form of moral security a society has, if only because it deals from beginning to end with human diversity and that is its raison d’être; another outlaw, Joseph Brodsky, reminds us.
In Latin America, my home, and in Spain, which is also my homeland, her writers shaped their lives from time to time in the fire of exile, which shaped their solitudes and their hopes, and that glimpse of the return to the lost land does not stop in the memory, it does not stop in the tongue, it always wakes up in the mouth .
“The country of memory where I was born / I died / I had matter / Bones I gathered to ignite / A land that buried me forever & rdquor;After all, everyone has their own sour piece of bread in their battered tongue, says Juan Gelman, exiled from his homeland by another dictatorship.
And on this side, on the other side of the vast land of La Mancha across the ocean, where so many Spaniards went to make America their exile, Luis Cernuda writes: “If I am a Spaniard, I am / In the way of those who cannot / I am something else: Of all the burdens / That, when I was born, fate upon me was the hardest.”
If I am from Nicaragua, I am in a way a person that could not be otherwise. Nicaragua is my language, the language on everyone’s lips, from which there is no possible exile, because language takes me everywhere, takes me away from prisons and exiles, and sets me free. Language that no one can take from me, and no one can exclude me from.
The language that is my homeland.