I don't know if you have read the news or seen it on the television news: on 1 August, on the popular Sotillo beach (Granada), a boat arrived loaded with migrants of North African origin who jumped into the sea a few metres from the shore and swam to the beach crowded with bathers and beach umbrellas. In a few moments, nine of them ended up lying on the sand of this small piece of coastline, held by beach users who ran towards them, knocked them down and immobilised them until the arrival of the Guardia Civil. Most of these people were taken to the Temporary Attention Centre for Foreigners (CATE) in the port of Motril, while some of those who witnessed the scene expressed indignation and disgust on social networks and in the media at such unnecessary violence, carried out by a small number of bathers. These scenes made me wonder what could drive a person who spends the day on the beach to get up from their towel and start hunting other human beings who have just risked everything.
I confess that the viral video that was used as the basis for this information left a very bad taste in my mouth. However, after a few days, I was reassured to read more relaxed analyses of the event, such as that of the newspaper Público, which explains that the original video was cut and manipulated to show only a small part of the event. In fact, in reality, it seems that other recordings and testimonies reveal that many of those present intervened to protect the new arrivals, calling for calm and even reprimanding those who tried to hold back the people who jumped from the boat to gain the shore. According to Público and the expert interviewed on the subject, Professor Laura Camargo, the narrative amplified by accounts linked to the extreme right, reinforcing xenophobic discourse based on this manipulation, avoided showing the solidarity of the bathers who wanted to help these people. The moral of the story is that there are more of us who are against racism and xenophobia than those who attack people who arrive in terrible conditions on our land. This reminded me of a similar event that took place on the beach of La Tejita, in the municipality of Granadilla de Abona (Tenerife), where those who arrived were received in solidarity, with water and care, by the bathers.
I am greatly relieved to know that there is more solidarity on that beach than racism, although I am aware that the attitude of those who set themselves up as improvised police is not an isolated incident: unfortunately, it is the living expression, embodied in ordinary people who spent the day relaxing in the sun, of a toxic climate that is winning us over, fuelled by xenophobic discourse that is normalised among politicians and other public figures. It is with great regret that I note that part of our society feels entitled to act outside the institutions and exercise the social control and violence legitimately reserved for the security forces.
I think it is time to remember that, last year alone, almost 10,000 people died or disappeared on the route between the African and Canary coasts. Every day we continue to receive cayucos, pateras and dinghies, many with dead people on board, with children and babies inside, while other boats end up engulfed by the sea, disappearing forever. Despite these data and the reality of the neighbouring continent, marked by multiple challenges that push African citizens to, on occasions, abandon their land, the headlines of so much human tragedy end up buried among the summer publicity and overexposure, without moving us.
I believe it is necessary, once again, to recall that the dominant media approach, which treats migration as a forced irregular choice that we consider a crime, is wrong, and that when borders are externalised, controls are tightened and those seeking opportunities are criminalised, those who want to reach our shores are pushed towards ever more dangerous routes. We cannot assume that all Africans want to come to Europe, nor that all migratory movements on African soil are suspicious: in fact, cyclical circular migrations and the search for opportunities in different economic poles, as well as movements for different reasons across African borders, are quite normal. Africa is home to a young population that faces climate change, political fragility and structural poverty with courage and sometimes migrates in search of better opportunities. Sometimes they consider that the best alternative is outside the continent and, faced with the difficulty of obtaining a visa and arriving legally, they move through suicidal irregular routes such as the Canary Islands. Many of these people are children who end up in our classrooms and streets and who are singled out, stigmatised and mistreated by extreme right-wing parties, as if they were not children to be protected.
I am one of those who believe that the humanity of a policy is measured by its capacity to prevent tragedies, not by its discourse, and that the progress of a society is also visible in how it treats the most vulnerable. The case of Grenada shows a worrying leap: citizens claiming functions of social control, in the absence or on the margins of the rule of law. However, it also shows us that there is solidarity everywhere and that there remains a substratum of empathy and a possibility of connection between people that we should care for and encourage. Perhaps also a reminder of our own migrant experience, part of our DNA and of our country's intrahistory.
I am pleased to recall that, during the almost twenty years of Casa África's existence, we have worked to build cultural, artistic, business and intellectual bridges between the African continent and Spain. We know personal stories, truncated trajectories, the experience of young people who do not get to fulfil their dreams or, at the very least, to achieve the security we take for granted, to be in school, to work and to be able to share their means with their communities. We try to support initiatives that give visibility to concrete stories with names and faces and that our society does not get used to trivialising death at sea as a distant statistic. We also promote debates, meetings and initiatives that highlight the fact that Africa is not just a cursed continent, condemned to exodus: it is culture, innovation and collaboration.
We strongly believe in the possibilities of legal mobility and protected pathways, in a context of fair economic relations, investment in education, entrepreneurship and culture, and in bringing people, institutions and governments closer together. We also believe in the capacity of citizens to demand better policies, to reject xenophobia and racism and to exercise solidarity.
I know that most are aware that migration is not disruption: it is necessity and opportunity. It is humanity. That is why we pledge not to allow death in our sea to become normalised, nor indignation to become indifference or improvised violence. Every life lost in the ocean and every assault on the weakest is a collective failure.
As I write these lines, I receive the news that 49 stowaways in poor condition and in a very precarious situation have just been located, having managed to enter a tugboat from Dakar that is heading for the port of Arrecife, in Lanzarote. The Red Cross has already set up a relief operation to receive them. I ask you to try to put yourselves in the shoes of one of these frightened, hungry people, perhaps victims of global warming or war, who will soon be making landfall on our islands. I ask you not to look away and to exercise that empathy that we sometimes seem to lack.