The “11-M” hearing kicked off today: the trial for 29 people accused of involvement in Spain’s worst terrorist attack ever. On the 11^th of March 2004 a series of bombs went off in rush-hour commuter trains in different parts of Madrid, killing nearly 200 people and wounding ten times that many. The worst carnage occurred disconcertingly close to where I live; there is a placard outside my local swimming pool to remember the use of the complex as a makeshift emergency hospital on the morning of the attacks.

In the media excitement leading up to the trial the focus has centred on the logistics of the hearing and the veracity of a conspiracy theory linking local terrorists ETA with the bombings. Personally, I’m more concerned with the fairness of the trial itself. I know, I know: how much more pinko-bleeding-heart-liberal can you get than worrying about a bunch of terrorists getting a fair trial?

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I thought Spain was out of the Fascist era, but I do wonder sometimes. My eyes fell upon a short news article over the shoulder of a fellow metro passenger the other day. I had to read it three times before I was sure I really had the meaning clear. The news was that a court had allowed a couple to name their daughter Julieta. That shouldn’t really be news, right? But it is, because last year a judge had deemed such a name inappropriate for a child.

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Last Saturday there was the other demonstration against ETA and in favour of peace. This one was convened by the opposition party, and the front pages of all the Sunday papers featured a crowd swimming in red and yellow: everyone proudly waving Spanish flags or balloons in its colours. As a New Zealander, and in these globalising times, this ardent nationalism is a mentality I don’t quite understand. Demonstrators certainly don’t bring their Kiwi flags out in force in New Zealand. (Do they?)

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I was spewing, like angry and powerless teenager Kevin on Harry Enfield. “I hate you! You’re not my government!” I wanted to shout. Why am I so upset? Because Ahmed Zaoui’s family must remain in hiding, in an incredibly difficult situation. The government will not allow them to join Ahmed Zaoui in New Zealand until his case is resolved. Given that it is the government who continues to drag the chain on this case, it’s a poor showing.

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I finally had a tenuous grip on my Friday afternoon class. Okay, to be completely honest, I’d given up on telling the slackers to stop talking, and was making the whole class copy questions off the board and answer them in their own words. Then another teacher comes in – the Head, or Deputy Head, or someone else with an inflated sense of self importance. No sooner had she opened the door than she starts tearing strips off a kid at the back of the room. Read the rest of this article »

Obama. The name leapt out at me from the shelves of an all-English second hand bookshop. It was just sitting there, collecting dust amongst the dross: the autobiography of one of the frontrunners in the competition to be the 2008 presidential candidate for the US Democrats. He’s black (well, half, to be precise) and up against Hillary Clinton. One Spanish journalist characterised the party’s “no-win” choice as like being asked “who do you love more, mommy or daddy?” Reading “Dreams from My Father”, I was well impressed by Obama’s background, philosophies and apparent honesty and, until I got right to the end, I was planning on writing a truly gushing appraisal (a bit like this one, ish).

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