| on 25-06-2007 07:58
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Published in : , Politics |
 On the street just above me, only minutes after the alleged terrorist act, all the other tourists were strolling calmly, perusing postcards and tapas menus, glancing over the stands of books set out for the St. Jordi holiday, 23 April, watching the performance artists who always line Barcelona's signature pedestrian avenue. There was no panicked stampede, only the same mundane crush that always drowns the city. But then, I wasn't exactly arguing with the voice of reason. The cop was sure I was a terrorist because he was sure I was a squatter, and he was sure I was a squatter because he thought I looked like one.
The story of Peter Gelderloos at Counterpunch dot org .
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