Matadero Madrid center for contemporary creation
First there were rumours. No one took them seriously, but you immediately felt goosebumps. Something old, learned from your parents. Others took it as a joke. Wrong. Many terrible things also seem like jokes at the beginning. But when the letters started to arrive, no one was laughing anymore. And then you realised that it made no difference that you had been born here. It made no difference that you could quote Rosalía de Castro or Lope de Vega, or entire articles of the Constitution. Feeling like you belonged here made no difference because, for them, you didn?t: you were from somewhere else, another place, a place you had never even been. And they sent you there. A journey into the unknown, because for them, that?s what you were: unknown, a stranger. You belonged to that other place. The letters kept arriving. Everybody received one. Some were so little that others had to read them the letter. And explain the meaning of the word in capital letters. DEPORTATION. And also explain that no, it was not a joke. Not anymore.
Helena Tornero Brugués