Cuspindo a barlovento

Serie realizada en 2002-03 a raiz da marea negra provocada polo Prestige.

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See english below

 Dende moi novo teño escoitado, cando non presenciado, historias fantásticas relacionadas co mar. O mar poboado de laranxas ata tornar a súa cor. Mariñeiros que subían nos seus aparellos coñac francés. Un pobo pintado con leite condensado. Nenos cos beizos ateigados de caramelos en forma de chifres traídos polo mar. Barcos de ferro enormes empotrados nas rochas ou colocados limpamente no medio dun areal… O mar devolvía das formas máis inusitadas os obxectos dos que se tiña apropiado.

O caso do Prestige é ben diferente. O mar vomitou algo que non quería, algo que se lle tiña tirado de forma contranatural. O resultado era previsíbel pois os científicos tiñan ben estudiadas as correntes de Nadal que determinarían o retorno do chapapote, pero o desprezo por este país fixo que os responsábeis nin sequera demandasen a opinión dos científicos e se limitasen a cuspir a barlovento.

As rochas de Nemiña parecían o negativo dunha intervención de Christo. A vista do Coído da Pedriña de Muxía resultaba desoladora. Farolas destruídas, árbores negras, aves e cangrexos agonizando cubertos polo chapapote, rochas, bolos, area, paseo, xardíns, parque infantil negros. Todo negro. Unha paisaxe apocalítica. Lembraba as imaxes que nos emitiran na 1ª Guerra do Golfo en 1991, como a da ave pretoleada, que logo resultou ser da marea negra provocada polo Exon Valdez. Mentres negaban de forma reiterada a existencia de marea negra.
Inmediatamente chegaron voluntarios procedentes dos máis diferentes lugares, que coas mans e con instrumentos propios doutros traballos, comezaron con entusiasmo unha tarea sobre a que non había tratados. Así os obxectos enzoufados de chapapote adquiriron unha nova vida á vez que se convertían nun símbolo da situación que se estaba a vivir. Un traballo desesperante, no que como Sísifo se ven obrigados a limpar novamente as mesmas praias e coídos que deixaran limpas na marea anterior.

Os percebeiros da Costa da Morte viron arruinada a súa forma de vida e respostaron con enerxía tamén. Lembro o día de noiteboa no coído de Touriñán, onde dúas ducias de percebeiros e percebeiras recollían o chapapote con sachos como se estivesen a traballar na leira, mentras nunha segunda liña centos de soldados non daban carrexado o que eles apañaran.

Nas Rías Bixas os mariñeiros saíron a plantarlle cara ao chapapote desafiando o mar e as prohibicións. Recoverteron tixolas, galletas, angazos e demais trebellos cotiáns ao tempo que os ferreiros deseñaron curiosos aparellos idóneos para pescar o chapapote, escribindo unha das páxinas máis épicas da historia do mar en Galiza.

Mentras o barco só vertía “hilillos de plastilina”, o Instituto Hidrográfico Portugués informábanos de que seguía perdendo máis de 100 toneladas diarias. A información foi substituída pola propaganda política, provocando a indignación colectiva. Como consecuencia xurdiu o movemento Nunca Máis que convocando centos de miles de galegos pide responsabilidades, dinignidade e futuro para un pobo que foi maltratado. Movemento sen parangón na historia dun pobo que o tópico presenta como submiso e conservador. Sen deixar de ser un nome propio, a expresión nunca máis converteuse, incluso fóra de Galiza, en sinónimo de rebelión cívica contra a inxustiza.

Na actualidade as escopetas de auga a presión seguen cuspindo a barlovento na Costa da Morte.

Longa vida para o espírito de Nunca Máis.

Manuel Sendón

Sardiñeiro, abril 2003

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SPITTING WINDWARD

Since I was a child, I have heard, or sometimes seen, fantastic stories that had to do with the sea.The sea so full of oranges that made its colour change. Fishermen who fished French brandy with their nets. A village painted with condensed milk. Children with whistle-like candies that the sea had washed up. Enormous iron ships smashed on the rocks or just lying in the middle of the sand…. The sea washed up in many different ways all the objects it had previously taken.

The case of the Prestige is a totally different matter. The sea washed up something that it did not like, something that it had received against nature. The result was foreseeable. The scientists had studied the Christmas jet, a jet that would make the oil return to the coast. But because of the disdain that our authorities showed for this country, they did not even ask for the scientists’ opinion, they just spat windward.

The rocks of the beach where I usually swim are black. Nemiña looked like the negative of one of Christo’s works. The sight of O CCoido in Muxía was devastating. Broken street lamps, black trees, dying birds and crabs , covered in oil, the rocks, the sand, the promenade, the gardens, the playground, black. Everything black. An apocalyptic landscape. It reminded us of the images broadcast when the Gulf War in 1991, like the one of the bird covered in oil, which turned out to be a bird affected by the Exxon Valdez oil slick. In the meantime, they kept on denying the existence of an oil slick over and over.
At once, volunteers came from everywhere and, with their hands and tools, which were supposed to be used for other matters, enthusiastically began a task, a task for which there were no written instructions. This is how the objects covered in oil acquired a new life and at the same time became the symbol of the situation of that moment. It was an exasperating task because, like Sisyphus, they had to clean the beaches and rocks that had been cleaned the day before.
The barnacle fishers of the Costa da Morte saw their livelihood ruined, and they responded with energy. I remember Christmas Eve in Touriñán. A couple of dozen barnacle fishers were removing the oil patches with hoes, just as if they were hoeing, while in a second line hundreds of soldiers did not have enough hands to carry all the oil that the barnacle fishers had removed.

In the Rías Baixas the fishermen went out to sea to face the oil, challenging the sea and the bans. Frying pans, forks, rakes and other everyday tools were transformed, while the blacksmiths designed odd devices suitable to fish the oil. This way they wrote one of the most epic pages of the history of the sea in Galiza.
As the ship was spilling just thin threads of plasticine, the Portuguese Hydrographic Institute informed us that the ship was leaking more than one hundred tonnes every day. This information was substituted by political propaganda, provoking a collective sense of outrage. As a consequence of all this, a movement called Nunca Máis (Never Again) was born. Hundreds of thousands of Galician people who demand responsibilities, dignity and future for a country that has been mistreated, responded to the call. In our country, whose people are supposed to be submissive and conservative, nothing similar had been seen before. Although the expression Nunca Máis continues to be a proper noun, it has also become, even out of Galiza, a synonym for civic uprising against injustice.

At present, the pressure water guns go on spitting windward in the Costa da Morte.

Long life for the spirit of Nunca Máis

Manuel Sendón
Sardiñeiro, april 2003

 

LIBRO

O Centro de Estudos fotográficos editou  O LIBRO Cuspindo a Barlovento no ano 2003. 

ISBN: 84-87882-26-9

EXPOSICIÓN E DOCUMENTACIÓN