My Arrest in Spain

The Easy Road from Tourism to Terrorism

By PETER GELDERLOOS

"I'm a tourist! Tourist!" I protested, somewhere in the dungeons of the Guardia Urbana located inconspicuously along La Rambla.

"¡No!" the cop yelled back, wagging his finger. "¡Terrorist!"

On the street just above me, only minutes after the alleged terrorist act, all the other tourists were strolling calmly, perusing postcards and tapas menus, glancing over the stands of books set out for the St. Jordi holiday, 23 April, watching the performance artists who always line Barcelona's signature pedestrian avenue. There was no panicked stampede, only the same mundane crush that always drowns the city. But then, I wasn't exactly arguing with the voice of reason. The cop was sure I was a terrorist because he was sure I was a squatter, and he was sure I was a squatter because he thought I looked like one (I was wearing a political t-shirt and had some slogans scribbled on my shoes).

In fact, it was the squatter's assembly that had organized the little protest on La Rambla. They had a festive, balloon-lined banner that read, in Catalan, "a city without squats is a dead city," they handed out flyers arguing against gentrification and explaining the reasons for squatting, and they concluded the little event by firing off a petardo, a little firework cannon that shoots flyers into the air. It made a damn loud noise, perhaps louder than intended, but in the end it was only that-a noise. But the police, always training for the worse, came in and made it worse. They charged in yelling, and adding an element of panic the firework never did. I was in the area and I saw the police running-at this point they were chasing one of the protestors-and I did what I would have done in the US:.....LINK