This Year's National Day of Catalonia Was a Big Independence Blowout

Crowds at the National Day of Catalonia flying the estelada flag. Photos by Andrea Alemany

It’s Thursday morning and I feel horrendous. Last night, on the eve of the National Day of Catalonia, I joined revellers watching the 17th-century music and dancing (as well as some weird street theatre) in Barcelona’s Gothic and Ribera districts. I drank quite a lot, as you tend to do when there’s music and dancing going on around you, and now have dim recollections of attempting to teach my local friends the lyrics to “Three Lions,” perhaps swept up in the patriotism of the occasion.

I’d expected to spend the early hours of today trying to counter my intermittent bouts of alcohol sweats with slurps from the tap. Instead, I was woken at what felt like sunrise by my friend Anna: “Come on—it’s La Diada…”

As we wander through the crowds, looking for a place to watch the parade, there seems to be only one means of coping with the situation. I reach into my bag and grab an Estrella. “It's 10 in the morning,” says Victor, one of our group, disapprovingly. Ignoring his advice, I try to offer some cans around. Everyone gives me the kind of look I'd expect to see at the beginning of an intervention. “It’s not that kind of festival,” whispers Anna.

La Diada Nacional de Catalunya—the National Day of Catalonia—marks the date that Barcelona surrendered to Bourbon forces at the climax of the War of Spanish Succession in 1714, thus relinquishing the Catalan constitution and submitting to the Spanish crown for the next three centuries.

In the thick of it by now, we've taken up position near Ciutadella park. Horsemen dressed to represent the army that defended the city march solemnly past us, heading through the El Born district towards the city center. They're followed by a troop of men with black caps, red-and-blue coats, and rifles. “They represent the trabucaires, the Catalan outlaws who joined in the defence,” says Anna.

The idea, I'm told, is to honor the soldiers who defended Catalan freedom in 1714. As well as the horsemen and trabucaires, thousands of flowers and wreaths are placed at the statue of Rafael Casanova, the commander in chief of the city's defense, near Ciutadella.

La Diada is a day of remembrance, but it’s also become a focus for frustrated Catalan ambitions of nationhood. Last year, more than a million people turned out to celebrate their country and demonstrate for independence. This year's festival was predicted to be even bigger, as it’s not only the 300th anniversary of the fall of Barcelona, but also comes just days before quite an important vote.

As Scotland prepares to decide whether to go it alone, the Catalans are watching closely, with their own independence referendum set for November 9. The repercussions of a vote for secession in Scotland will be felt here, as it would set a precedent that could “fast-track” Catalan independence, according to Catalan first minister Artur Mas. The only problem, of course, is that the Spanish government doesn't actually recognize this vote—though Catalan members of parliament are currently trying to pass a law that would make the referendum legal, forcing Madrid to respect whatever the result might be.

Men dressed as trabucaires

After the trabucaires have passed, we follow the parade towards the El Born district, where there's a rising tide of yellow and red. The size of the crowds is already impressive, and I can hardly believe how many esteladas—the flag typically flown by Catalan separatists—are surrounding me.

I notice a commotion ahead and wonder if the mood is about to turn. People seem to be clambering on top of each other. “What the fuck is happening?” I wonder out loud. “It's a casteller,” says Anna gleefully. I soon realize that around 30 people are constructing an enormous human tower, soundtracked by an unnerving tune played on the gralla, a Catalan flute. “They practice years to do this,” says Anna. “It's very typical here—you always see the castellers at big events. It symbolises how we're stronger when we work together, as one.”

A casteller

Whether it’s the heat of the midday sun or the fear of witnessing lots of people being crushed under a collapsed human pyramid, something triggers the flight instinct inside me. I slip away to a bar in one of the quieter streets off El Born for a quick refreshment.

“Una grande, por favor,” I say to the bartender, who smirks at my accent.

“Do you like la Diada?” he asks in English.

“Too hot,” I blurt out, before trying to make amends with: “I’ve never seen so many people—it's incredible.”

“They have come from all over Catalonia,” the burly 50-something replies, handing over my drink. “We're very proud of our country. I have no problem with los Espanoles, but we have to stand up for our culture, our history.”

The Arc de Triomf

When I finally track down Anna and the rest of my friends a couple of hours later, they're near the colossal Arc de Triomf—there's a huge estelada hanging beneath it—discussing the referendum. Anna reckons the whole thing is a mess; that there should be reasoned debate, like in Britain, instead of the war of words between Madrid and Catalonia. She has doubts the referendum will even go ahead, especially if it's illegal. Victor, who I've now identified as an out-and-out separatist, is not only sure that the referendum will take place, but convinced the answer will be “yes.”

Like Tony fucking Blair, I foolishly wade into the argument with a third way. As it's almost impossible that the referendum will be recognized by November 9, I suggest that the vote is more symbolic; people will probably vote yes to give separatists leverage against the Spanish government for more powers and greater autonomy, rather than outright independence.

Overhearing us, a man wearing a yellow top (and inexplicably about to buy three more from one of the many kiosks selling Catalan-themed stuff), interjects. “You're wrong,” he says. “They've said that they'll declare independence if we vote yes.”

Crowds outside Santa Maria del Mar

The debate continues in Ribera, where crowds have gathered to listen to speeches behind the 14th-century church of Santa Maria del Mar. This is where the Catalan defenders made their last stand; it was the final district to fall to the Bourbons. Opposite the church lies the Fossar de les Moreres, where the soldiers were buried, and the site of an official ceremony the evening before, led by First Minister Artur Mas.

As evening approaches, the masterpiece of La Diada begins to be assembled. The plan is to somehow martial the vast crowd into a giant V for "vota"—or perhaps "victory"—in the central boulevards of Diagonal and Gran Via. As we jostle into position, I apologise to a lady for bumping her. She has two little girls in tow, both with their faces painted red-and-yellow, and tells me she's come all the way from Lleida, a city a good two-hour drive away. “We want to show support,” she beams. “Catalonia is a country, with its own language and traditions. We just need Madrid to accept it.”

It's all very organized, and by 17:14—timed to the year Barcelona fell—the red-and-yellow V seems to be complete. You can't tell from street-level, of course, but it can be seen in Madrid, from one of the media helicopters flying overhead.

As the sun disappears we settle in for the night back by the Arc de Triomf, where a stage has been set up and live bands are performing, all singing in Catalan. I finally crack open an Estrella, but recoil after the first swig of the now tepid lager. “Don't worry, man,” laughs Victor, putting an arm around me. “In a couple of weeks it's Le Mercè, the real Barcelona party.”

This, I'm told, is the city’s main annual festival, featuring gegants (giant papier-mâché effigies, of which I only saw two today), carrefocs (firework displays set off by people in devil costumes) and many more castellers. There will also be a lot of drinking. Maybe it's the warm beer talking, but I'm not sure Le Mercè will match up to La Diada. Politics might be a different kind of trip for some, but for me there’s just more to get fired up about when your partying is framed around the long-fought for secession of an entire region.

Later, I review the news and learn that 2 million people are thought to have take part in the day's events (though at least one news outlet in Madrid puts it at 500,000), making this potentially the biggest ever “rally” in Europe.

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