Opinion

Long-term resident

PATRÍCIA

Una frase de fins a tres O QUATRE RATLLESde textUNA SEGONA FRASE DE FINS A TRES O QUATRE RATLLE DE TEXT

It was no co­in­ci­dence that Patrícia Ga­ban­cho and I met at a meet­ing of an or­gan­i­sa­tion called Veu Pròpia (’Our Own Voice’) founded by a group of peo­ple who were non-na­tive Cata­lan speak­ers who be­lieved they had a right to speak Cata­lan with­out being ac­cused of treach­ery by cer­tain rad­i­cal Spaniards or treated with dis­trust by a hand­ful of re­ac­tionary ’na­tive’ Cata­lans. Patrícia and I, in­deed, be­longed to that happy band of for­eign­ers who not only spoke but wrote in Cata­lan. Trained as a jour­nal­ist, Patrícia be­came in­trigued and then fas­ci­nated by Cat­alo­nia back in the late 1960s when she began to visit a Cata­lan cul­tural cen­tre in her na­tive city of Buenos Aires. She was sur­prised that they lent her rare and valu­able books when she ex­pressed an in­ter­est in them, de­spite not know­ing her at all well, an act of gen­eros­ity which made her re­alise that, as she put it: ’My God, these peo­ple have a cause!’ A cause in which she be­came deeply in­volved when she came to live in Cat­alo­nia in the 1970s. First as the co-founder of a pro-in­de­pen­dence left-wing group and later as a writer of sev­eral ex­tremely suc­cess­ful books (in Cata­lan) about Cata­lan pol­i­tics and cul­ture, in­clud­ing a work of fu­ture fic­tion – an in­stant best-seller – in which she imag­ined how Cat­alo­nia might later be­come an in­de­pen­dent state. Per­haps my favourite book of hers, how­ever, is an overview of Cata­lan lit­er­a­ture and cul­ture called El fil de la història (’The Thread of His­tory’) that demon­strated not only her en­cy­clopaedic knowl­edge of the sub­ject but also a lit­er­ary style – pre­sent, in fact, in most of her work - that was con­cise, per­sonal, sharp and laced with irony. Her final book was an ex­tra­or­di­nary in­ves­ti­ga­tion into the life and work of Cat­alo­nia’s first woman spir­i­tu­al­ist, Amàlia Domingo Soler, whose turn-of-the-cen­tury Barcelona salon be­came a meet­ing point for an­ar­chists, fem­i­nists and pro­gres­sive Cata­lanists. Much as I – and many oth­ers – ad­mired her books, it was Patrícia her­self I ad­mired even more: she was funny, forth­right and al­ways a plea­sure to be around. A reg­u­lar guest at many tele­vised round ta­bles, she had the un­usual gift of mak­ing friends with peo­ple with whom she was po­lit­i­cally at log­ger­heads. De­spite being what the so­ci­ol­o­gists call a so­cio­met­ric star – she had an ex­cep­tion­ally large cir­cle of friends and ac­quain­tances – she kept one se­cret from most of them, my­self in­cluded: the fact that for sev­eral years she had been bat­tling lung can­cer, to which she suc­cumbed last month at the age of 65. And those were the very years that most of us knew her as a lively, vol­un­tar­ily con­tro­ver­sial and often hu­mor­ous friend. The news of her death, so un­ex­pected, knocked all of us for six. Al­though, in ret­ro­spect, think­ing about it, Patrícia did have one other char­ac­ter trait: a will power and a stub­born­ness that helped make her per­son­al­ity as strong as it was. And which was per­haps what de­cided her to con­ceal her ill­ness from some of the very peo­ple who would have been most con­cerned about it. She will be missed. In­deed, is being missed.

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