El domingo 28 de diciembre, leí un artículo de Javier Cercas en “El País Semanal” queriendo saber, para entender, el monstruo de ETA y sus secuaces en el País Vasco. Pues bien, voy a daros mi opinión. No quiero ofender a nadie, esta es mi opinión personal, intransferible, y subjetiva de mi experiencia infantil en el País Vasco antes de ir a Canada.
Lo primero que me percaté es que desde muy pequeña/o te anulaban la sensibilidad. Yo era muy sensible, llorona. En cuanto lloraba ahí estaba mi madre para darme dos bofetadas diciéndome que no llorara. Me tragaba las lágrimas. Esto me pasó muy a menudo. Mi madre era MUY pegona (hoy en dia hubiese sido maltrato infantil aunque exageran porque al fin y al cabo ha hecho que sea una persona fuerte) y ya sabemos que el País Vasco es un matriarcado. Las madres marcan la pauta de la educación. Lentamente me fuí transformando en un pedernal. Luego “el que dirán” pesaba mucho, mucho. Un dia que le ayudé a mi amona (abuela) a lavar los platos, vino una visita, le dijo a mi amona que qué limpio estaba todo, yo salté y le dije, muy orgullosa “yo he lavado los platos”. Enseguida mi amona me contradijo y sonriendo le dijo a la visita que no, que yo era muy fantasiosa y que no era verdad. Mucha hipocresía. Entonces si mezclamos todo esto, falta de sensibilidad, “el que dirán”, e hipocresía tenemos parte del cocktail perfecto para alimentar a estos criminales y a sus secuaces. Tan simple como eso. El problema de algunos vascos (menos mal que van siendo minoría) es que NO se atreven a ser LIBRES. A decir lo que verdaderamente piensan, lo que sienten. Son pedernales y eso lleva a la locura. Muchos son locos de atar. A mi me salvó Canada, si no ahora estaría en un manicomio. Seguro.
On Sunday 28th December, I read an article by Javier Cercas in “El País Semanal” wanting to know, to understand the ETA monster and its followers in the Basque country. OK, I'm going to give you my opinion. I don't want to offend anyone, it's my personal, subjective and non-transferable childhood memories in the Basque country before going to Canada.
The first thing I noticed is that from a very young age they mined one's sensibility. I was a very sensitive child—a cry-baby. As soon as I cried there was my mother giving me two good spanks and telling me NOT to cry. I swallowed my tears. This happened very often because my mother was very quick with the hand (nowadays it would be considered child cruelty although they exaggerate because all in all it has made me a stronger person) after all, the Basque country was a matriarchal society. Mothers ruled the education of their children. Slowly, I became harder than stone. Also “what people say” is a very strong feeling to take into consideration. One day that I helped my grandmother washing the dishes, a visit came and marvelled at the cleanliness, I, very proud, said I had washed the dishes. My grandmother poo-pooed what I had said, saying to the visitor that I was a very imaginative child and that it wasn't true. Very hypocritical. So, if we mix all this, lack of sensitivity, “what people say” and hypocrisy we have part of the perfect cocktail that feeds these criminals and their followers. It's as simple as that. The problem of some Basques (thank goodness they're becoming a minority) is that they DON'T dare to be FREE. To say what they really think, what they feel. They're rocks; and THAT leads to madness. Many are crazy. Canada saved me, otherwise, I'm sure I would've been in a nut house right now. For sure.
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