The news of the death of Maricarmen Abascal has fallen on those camped in Puerta del Sol like a sharp blow. Until that moment, hundreds of people were debating the organization of the camp, oblivious to the fact that the woman whose story has become the face of the housing crisis had just died. The assembly has stopped. “We are going to have a minute of silence,” a young woman announced into the microphone, the same one with which until then she had been giving way to the different points of the day. For a few moments, the voices have gone silent in Sol. “It is not fair that he spent the last days of his life in this situation,” he said later, his voice breaking.
But the silence has only lasted a few minutes. Sadness has given way to rage. “What do you think about doing a peaceful march to Congress to honor Maricarmen?” the young woman proposed. The response has been immediate: applause, cheers and hundreds of voices that have broken the silence to chant a slogan: “Maricarmen has to be the last victim of this system.”
The crowd has started. The campers called the rest of their companions and, shortly after, a column of hundreds of people began to advance towards the Congress of Deputies, the same Lower House that, a week before, had rejected the two housing decrees.
“We are going to go to Congress by hook or by crook,” one of the young people leading the march said through the megaphone. He immediately corrected his tone: "We are going to go peacefully. We are not going to ask permission to exercise our right to protest and mourn." The crowd responded by chanting a single word: “To mourn!” “We are going to pay tribute to her because she encouraged us to continue fighting,” he continued. “They are going to tell us that what happened to Maricarmen is an inevitable tragedy, the same people who evicted her.” And the march has started the 700 meters that separate Puerta del Sol from Congress.
At every turn, protesters have raised the tone. “You, rentiers, are the terrorists,” they chanted as they advanced. In front, the young man with the megaphone continued encouraging the crowd: "Let no one doubt that the fight for housing does not stop. This Congress is dominated by vulture funds and we tell them that they are murderers."
The police were quick to react. The agents have informed the protesters that they would accompany them back to Sol to guarantee security and, in the Carrera de San Jerónimo, they have deployed fences to close the passage and block access to the main entrance to Congress.
The column has stopped in front of the Lower House. Dozens of candles have begun to light and, one by one, hands have raised them towards the sky. “Murderers!” they shouted in front of Congress. “This is a shock, we didn't expect it,” says Rebeca, 24, hugging a friend while standing in front of the Lower House. She speaks excitedly, still trying to assimilate the news. "This has to continue promoting the fight. It moves me to think of everything that Maricarmen suffered in the last days of her life," he adds.
Next to him, a group of young people sit in a circle around a piece of paper with Maricarmen's photograph, surrounded by flickering candles. Little by little, more people arrive and join the protest. With each new group, the chants gain strength and the tone becomes more combative. Between emotion and anger, Daniel, one of the young people who came tonight, says that what hurts him the most is thinking that Maricarmen “will never return home.”
The screams die down for a moment when a revolutionary leftist activist takes the megaphone. Start reading a poem by Rafael Alberti, “Eviction.” “I ask you,” he begins. "When you leave the house, tell me, what bad, cruel angels want to rent it again? Tell me." For a few seconds, only his voice is heard. Then the crowd breaks into cheers.
In Puerta del Sol, protesters who have not come to the doors of Congress gather around an improvised altar in front of the headquarters of the Presidency of the Community of Madrid. They have brought red flowers and have drawn Maricarmen's face on a sign on which they have written: “You cannot dislodge a memory.”
A small group remains seated. Dozens of people stand in silence, looking at the altar. There are no slogans or megaphones. Only the broken crying of some of the people who have come there to say goodbye to her.
