Once upon a time there was a small neighborhood that lived on the skirts of a small town and a dry creek. For a long time, a group called the Dirughes had been sending in the world. The producers needed the people's work to make the money, and so the neighborhood was born, with the families going to the factories of the city. In exchange for the production of the products they were paid to the workers, and that salary was used to buy the products that they themselves had made, much more expensive than what it really cost to produce. That was the way that savers had to raise money. Over time, however, billionaires found a new manga: the easiest way to fill the pockets became the buying and selling of houses. If there was an overcrowded sector, it was housing. Then, the producers saw that the most profitable thing was to evict the neighborhood, in order to build new houses that would be sold at an affordable price. The neighborhood was almost deserted.

Avarice had no limits. Housing prices continued to rise. Because people didn't have money to buy houses, the money was sold to them, provided they were paying for that money while they lived. But from a moment on, many didn't have enough money to pay the debt, and the whole system that was built exploded. As a result of this explosion, the projects planned in the neighborhood were interrupted.

The cruelty of the situation was once again paid by the workers, their wages were cut, many factories closed down and others changed their places. People couldn't find a job or get a home. All the citizens were told that there was no other way, that their goal was to find work at all costs, even in exchange for misery, and then to fall back on the wheel of the witch to get the house, with a perpetual debt.

It was then that the neighborhood initiative was launched. They didn't believe that the only way to organize life was that marked by billionaires, and they entered the homes of the uninhabited neighborhood. They believed in collaboration and knew that, even if they were few, they could otherwise survive by helping each other. Thanks to their work, they gradually remodeled the neighborhood and made the things they needed. They showed that there was another way of doing things, more just, more focused on people's well-being and equality and not money. And they gave a new life to the abandoned neighborhood, regardless of the cruel system of the landowners. The ones that were ten at first became twenty, and then a hundred, and the project was growing and growing, and in auzolan lived happily for many years.

“And whether I had it or not… No, it wasn’t.” If we did not know the situation of the Errekaleor neighborhood and the intentions of the City Hall of Vitoria-Gasteiz, that could be a nice story to explain capitalism to the children and give a ray of hope. The rejection of free and self-managed spaces by many managers of public institutions is not new. And the question we should ask is: Why are these kinds of projects made so uncomfortable to them?

At least, as I understand the public service, public representatives should be proud that in their towns or neighbourhoods these kinds of dynamics emerge, and they should accompany them, not be enemies. Perhaps it is because, beyond speculative interests, the limits of these institutions are evident, with far fewer resources, by pure will and cooperation, because many of the projects created in them fill the gaps in the public service. Once, then, today:

Errekaleor alive!