I decided not to prepare my sign in advance, just in case the police stopped me on my way there. Who knows, I am not an expert at demonstrating anyway. I was excited about the idea of someone reading my line and feeling moved. My naive imagination even got excited by the thought that some journalist would be interested in our story.
But in the middle of this excitement, I arrived in Rue Juste Lipse, and found myself in front of the typical Brussels wire fence. "Where is your badge, mademoiselle?" the policeman asked. "I don't have one." I was crestfallen. "Only EU employees are allowed," he said, "the entire area is closed." I felt stupid. Plain stupid. I turned around and stupidly dropped some tears of frustration. But I kept walking to the other side of Rond Point Schuman, where all the journalists are and where I thought I would have more of a chance. Same old story. And total failure.
The feeling of frustration was immense. My dad, whom I called to give vent to my disappointment, said it was completely normal that they wouldn't allow people in. And maybe he is right. But as an incurably naive young European, I just wanted to be a face from the street in the middle of the bureaucratic greyness. Not even inside the building, just outside! Holding a sentence that would make something go 'click' in someone's mind. I thought that the fortress which surrounded the summit couldn't be more symbolic of the distance between the leaders and the people. One might argue that there are other ways to channel requests, and that is true, but the street should be open for spontaneous peaceful expression. How are we supposed to reduce the so-called democratic deficit, and how are we going to succeed at creating the long-awaited active citizenship if we can't even achieve the most basic form of communication?
Just three days ago, before asking myself this question, I was reading about the new number of unemployed people in Spain. 5.3 million. 22.85% of the population. 39% of young people. And, according to this El País article, one in two under age. It was the first time in my life that numbers gave me goosebumps. On that very day, I told a friend how frustrating it was to see such a tragedy simplified in cold numbers. I miss seeing the names and stories behind the statistics. I wish the tragedy was treated as such, and that those in families or countries that are doing well, would understand those that are not doing so well. Today, on the day that my family became part of the statistics, I just wanted to be one of the faces that could humanise the crisis.
