Automatically translated from Basque, translation may contain errors. More information here. Elhuyarren itzultzaile automatikoaren logoa


"Moreno, get notified!" I'm going down, walking fast, with my stomach tangled up. I get a lot of papers: "Sign up here." "What is it? suspicious. "Immediate freedom is decreed". Ffffssst...! I empty my brain to my feet, like the water from the compress that falls with a blow. So, they slip out of the inside, casings, blood and bones.

From that mess, just a quick photographic sequence of memories, where life takes speed. Collect chunks, clean the cell. First of all, greet the girls in the module: "Aupa neskak, animo, long live solidarity between women, break jails!" Then, greetings -- I walk and all of them there, some waiting and others on the way. Glups. Ten, twenty, forty hugs; ten, twenty, forty passionate passions; eighty loud screams, which I cannot bear.

How do you get out into the street, leaving within the one who has turned 33 years between walls? Leaving all those who are still in criminal conditions? The day and sun will be oxymoron impossible by "Prison"

How do you get out into the street, leaving within the one who has turned 33 years between walls? Leaving all those who are still in criminal conditions? That is, being in Euskal Herria, jails are in no way fairer, because the day and sun will be oxymoron impossible "by prison." Because for the prisoner, foreign territory will always be the criminal realm. It is even contradictory, perhaps, to insist on the reconstruction of a single part of the road to the conflict that is still in its phase.

In that excited farewell, on the other hand, the only thing I could see in everyone's eyes was love and, above all, dignity over years of imprisonment, the wake of revolution, mutual pride. Detained for a long time, even with fools. Then I take a part of each one, but it's not a heavy burden, but an inheritance from the struggle that makes me fly proudly. Now, step by step with those spare feet, in that desire and effort to make the past a future.

A kilometer walking, walking, walking, breaking shoes. One kilometer and: how did you find the village? What change, everything has changed, no? Have you already seen that customs are not the same, except forms of militancy? Well, listen, you know what? Of course times and shapes have changed, but… to the stone circulating without mosses! That struggle is a constant path. We will continue along the same path that we have walked with various shoes and even barefoot, with or without a map, without covering with a single rain, because the direction remains as clear as ever: freedom.

Well, we're going to walk, we're going to keep going through the village together.

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