As host, the mayor of Madrid, José Luis Martínez-Almeida, opened fire, greeting all his superiors. From Ayuso to Feijóo passing through Aznar: “Between Puigdemont and Sánchez, always Spain.” The contained enthusiasm that Almeida provoked overflowed at 12:10 when Isabel Díaz Ayuso was introduced. Impressive: “Ayuso, Ayuso, Ayuso!” “The pull that this woman has is formidable,” diagnosed one protester. “In Madrid we are experts in Sánchez’s affronts,” she said. Each intervention by the president of the Community was an outcry. “If he allows himself to be humiliated, so be it. We have no way.” And “no way” was the whip of her speech, the phrase, the slogan that the countless and kilometer-long parish ended up chanting at the end of each stanza. As a response. Pop concert tactics. Like the star he is.
And after the mass bath, the demonstration of who is the guardian of the charisma, he said goodbye with a “Long live Spain!” before introducing José María Aznar: “The Constitution is not a bargaining chip.” Sacred principles as immovable pillars of Spain that had to be defended transversally among all parties became this morning the exclusive heritage of the PP. The speeches continued their course and channel. Nobody like Ayuso shook up the street. During Rajoy’s monotonous intervention, new shouts broke out: “Puigdemont, to prison! Puigdemont, to prison!” At 12:38, MR (almost) finished, or that was the wish: “The amnesty is an amendment to the entirety of our Constitution and our democracy.” And he took the medal for that (mild) application of article 155 against the 1-O coup before telling Núñez Feijóo: “You are not alone.”
Feijóo’s stellar presentation – “the winner of the 23-J elections” in the speaker’s voice – sounded, however, like a campaign closing rally: “President! President! President!” He returned his enthusiasm after Rajoy’s crack. A greater depth, a greater weight, a nod to the 14 autonomies won, to his barons. And a swipe at the PSOE, taking advantage of the presence of Aznar and Rajoy, between eyebrows: “A party that does not respect its elders has no present and no future.” And he highlighted the volume of attendance at a demonstration that they did not want: 40,000 attendees [60,000, according to PP sources]. “They have invented the bullshit of the progressive majority. They are neither the majority nor are they progressive,” said the candidate appointed by the King to form the Government. It was like the rehearsal of the investiture speech/debate of the imminent Tuesday in this investiture, won, on the street.
A flood of people went up Goya Street from Colón, an hour before the start, with unmistakable banners: “Feijo, ¡fijo!” The creator of the slogan, let’s agree, did not falter in the attempt. Flags of Spain, pennants of the PP, banners of Extremadura, Galicia, La Rioja, Andalusia… A few meters ahead of the Trébol cafeteria, a street vendor hawked his product: “The flag of Spain costs one euro!” “Sánchez sells it cheaper,” one of his own replied. Or much more expensive, depending on the price of the demolition: amnesty.
During the sound checks, with the backdrop of “For the equality of the Spanish”, the side screens began to broadcast images of Pedro Sánchez changing his mind about the amnesty (and everything else you throw at it) and convulsed the parish who crowded at the front of the Plaza de Felipe II, in front of the stage, like the first groupies. A sea of ??flags stirred a wave of boos. It was only the beginning.
The buses that docked like barges on Narváez Street continued to vomit troops that fed the demonstration, increasingly condensed between the buildings on the old road of the old bullring in Madrid, where the WiZink stands today. “The square is already full,” announced the voice testing the sound at 11:14. There would still be room for more faithful until 12, time for the gunshot. But the chosen site did not allow expansion with its blocks of houses like a cattle herd. The buses chartered by the autonomous baronies of the Popular Party seemed to have exceeded all the organization’s expectations.
On Fernán González Street it was difficult to join the flood that was already bogged down in the heart of Goya. At its Metro station the convoys no longer stopped, for safety reasons, due to crowding.
Dalí’s dolmen threatened like a meteorite that could fall on the stage at any moment and the high average age, at this time, confirmed that youth get stuck in the sheets on Sundays. And he would join with the hangover pace of Saturday night, staying in the queue of the demonstration that overflowed through Conde de Peñalver and Alcalá.
The screens offered, with depth perspective, an astonishing picture of the massive attendance, as if they were going down to Columbus. Archive images of Núñez Feijoó opening for himself warmed up the masses with messages of exaltation: “They want us to shut up!” The cry of encouragement would find an amplified echo throughout the morning in this street investiture.
