Dying doesn't seem, in principle, that is among the plans of any traveler. Pero la gente muere. La tragedia puede alcanzarnos cruzando una calle del barrio o visitando Afganistán. Y aunque la diferencia en ambos casos parece gigantesca, si atendemos a la estadística, hoy viajar a Afganistán no es jugar a la ruleta rusa, no es una locura y no es un destino de guerra. But, three Spaniards had the misfortune to die, murdered by a madman, a lone wolf of ISIS or a deranged radical. The motives of the executioner no longer matter. The truth is that it was very unlikely that that would happen and it did..
And then it happens that this news releases the pack that barks and bites from the sofa. The hurtful messages, the thunderous noise that blames and stigmatizes those who have the concern that they lack. Others mark the difference between the tourist and the war correspondents, these are legitimized to take risks. And in general, after that storm of snap judgments, of insults and mockery that turn the victim into an asshole, Brief silence arrives until the next news to feed on, with which to shout anything... and oblivion settles in the gutters of Afghanistan, that only the families of the dead cry.
With these thoughts flying over me I stumbled on Twitter (X) with another article that addressed this issue of the Spaniards murdered in Afghanistan. A good friend wrote it, Javier Brandoli in El Confidencial. And although I know the person well, his arguments were not those of a friend, but those of a correspondent who has written reports from four continents and has traveled halfway around the world as a journalist. I was happy to see that he was not speaking from the vantage point that legitimizes the correspondent, but he landed on the most human side and empathized with the victims:
“He who goes to Afghanistan, to Honduras, or to the Congo, has already traveled around the world. He loves to travel, Some even love to tell about their trips in their blogs., for whatever reasons, and that does not make them guilty of anything other than daring to go to some places with greater risks to enjoy, to satisfy your curiosity”.
Nothing makes the cautious more proud than the shelter provided by not going out anywhere.
It is enough to read some comments on this article to understand that a part of society seems to rejoice in having chosen the option of not leaving, They criticize the intrepid for being so, they deny solidarity to the victim, and if necessary, They insist on mercilessly punishing the greatest of sins: recklessness. Nothing makes the cautious more proud than the shelter provided by not going out anywhere, and nothing irritates him more than the repatriation of an adventurer who always, always, always, is guilty of something.
That does not mean that we have to excuse every occurrence or that we confuse bravery with recklessness.. There are irresponsible travelers who trivialize the danger and there are even some who feel excitement in hot areas.. Brandoli censors - and I share it- that new wave that has created tourists from war or natural disasters, because not everything goes in the album of personal adventure. You don't go to visit the horror of a conflict. The attitude of those who chase the smell of death seems morbid to me., But there are many countries without war where curiosity is legitimate even if certain risks are assumed.. Many people travel to unconventional countries, of some instability, for a vocation just as respectable as that of the reporter who goes with a camera to a conflict zone. Disregarding their motivations is presumptuous.. It is simply a desire to continue knowing, to expand the prism. Of travelling.
There are irresponsible travelers who trivialize the danger and there are even some who feel excitement in hot areas.
From Javier's article, I'll stick with the beginning, which is perhaps the best ending.: “Don't shoot the pianist. Much less shoot the pianist when he is already dead. Don't be angry. Do not point out that the skirt was very short as a mitigating factor.. Don't open your 'whoever thought of it'. Do not teach from the sofas of your homes, with their phones in their hands, about a world they don't know. No descarguen odio ante un drama. No sean malas personas, if they can avoid being so.”
Well, that. Don't be bad people. And with that idea, I went to sleep, without suspecting that he would wake up with another tragedy that, this time, the memory choked me. A news story revealed another death of a Spaniard outside the home, this time in Ethiopia. He was the photographer and creator of the Rift Valley tourism agency: Toni Espadas.
Toni was not a war correspondent, not one influencer, not one irresponsible. I was wearing 25 years in love with Africa, went into each country, in each tribe and he cared about the people. He had a commitment to the places where he operated as a tour guide. I loved Africa. And someone, an armed guy, someone shot him for any reason. It is, end of story. I don't know if anyone will bark for his repatriation.. It doesn't matter either.
I loved Africa. And someone, an armed guy, someone shot him for any reason. It is, end of story
Toni Espadas was, also, who opened all the paths of the continent to me during the pandemic, when we crossed Africa to record the documentary series Atlantic. Possibly that trip was imprudent, may go through Cameroon, Gabon, The Congo, Angola, Namibia and South Africa was reckless and perhaps someone will think that he was not morally legitimate to take the risk.. He never questioned our eagerness to complete the trip. He never tried to dissuade us from filming Africa during that time when no one visited Africa. Thanks to him we live memorable experiences, we met ethnic groups in the confines of the jungle, we cross deserts and complete our work. But it wouldn't matter if it weren't for work..
Nor would I dare to judge the reasons that led him to guide a Chilean television crew to the Omo Valley., in Ethiopia, but I know that he had an uncontrollable passion for what he was doing. I know that feeling, the excitement of being in places that don't belong to you, the feeling of happiness when you get lost in one of the souks of Baghdad, when you reach the end of the world 67 degrees below zero on the Diomedes Islands or when you cross, with 25 years, the desert of Balochistan on the way to Singapore escorted by several Pakistani soldiers because one day I dreamed of making my first documentary. In none of those places did I look for the risk, in fact I have a habit of trying to avoid it, But the desire to know the world and try to complete the unfathomable puzzle of the human race is stronger.. And that doesn't make me a hero or an asshole..
Perhaps the Omo Valley is precisely one of the places where this puzzle has some of the most fascinating pieces of our species.. To Toni, I guess, curiosity always guided him, the thirst to know a little more, to discover another new corner, another tribe, another lion, another day intact. And that happens to those who end up on the other side of the world with a new smile and dragging the suitcase of their lost dreams., and it also happened to the Spaniards who visited Afghanistan to try to understand how to live in cultural antipodes.. And that is also what Toni Espadas was looking for in Ethiopia when he found death: the desire to live. Life.
