After the flood
Grief, solidarity, and anger in Valencia.
Valencia is six days into a tragedy that has left our community forever changed, and still seeking help, as well as answers.
Last Tuesday 29 October there was a red weather warning in Valencia. At 8pm a deafening, region-wide alert went out to phones everywhere. Unfortunately it was sent hours too late. Water levels were as high as two metres in some areas. People were left sheltering on top of cars, petrol stations, or in some cases clinging to trees for hours on end, praying for their survival. At time of writing the death toll is 217, but is likely to rise.
Whilst the city centre is untouched, if you travel just ten minutes down the road the scenes are truly apocalyptic. Roads are damaged or blocked by cars and debris, entire villages have become inaccessible, left isolated and without power, clean water and food for days on end. Specialist help has been desperately needed to move trees, pump out water, provide urgent medical and humanitarian care, and - yes, unfortunately, remove bodies in a safe and dignified manner. But that help was delayed in coming.
Valencians are angry. In today’s essay, posted in place of Friday, I want to do my best to explain why to those who are not here in the city.
Please note that fast-moving, highly-traumatic events like these are ripe for misinformation and as a result I have done my best to only refer to verified news reports and share my own personal eyewitness accounts only.
An SOS strangled by the Spanish political system
Not only did Tuesday’s flood warning not come quickly enough, the subsequent official recovery effort has moved at what has felt like a glacial pace.
Spain’s political system means the President of the autonomous community - in this case the Comunidad Valenciana - takes charge over the President of the national government unless the former explicitly asks the latter to step in. Given the elected leaders of both are from the two opposing parties (PP/Vox vs. PSOE), they’ve spent more time pointing fingers and passing the buck than putting heads together to figure out how best to get help to those who need it.
As a result, those in affected neighbourhoods have been depending on hastily-organised, spontaneous volunteer action to get potable water, food and survival kits over to them, and start the clean-up process. I’ve been haunted by recordings of residents calling into radio stations, running instagram lives, or grabbing roving reporter mics to ask for help - at times literally begging for the army to be sent in.
On Saturday a woman was found alive in a car in a tunnel. She had spent four days there lying next to the body of her sister-in-law. It’s hard to stop yourself wondering how many more people could have been saved if there was a systemic rescue effort in place from day one.
Instead, the army did not properly arrive in the area until the fourth day. In addition, regional (and other national) firefighters and service-people have all told similar stories of being ready to deploy, only to be rejected. Here’s one example of firefighters from Bilbao, and others from France, who came anyway.
All this means the last few days on the ground in Valencia has felt rather like you’re just screaming into the void. And if that’s how I feel, going home to my safe and unaffected flat in the city centre, with all of my loved ones accounted for, how do you think those in Catarroja, Aldaya, or Paiporta feel? These are just a few of the towns who have waited, and waited, and waited, for help that has taken days to appear.
Apocalypse Now, Still
Until you see it for yourself, it’s hard to comprehend just how bad things are in the suburbs of Valencia right now, even after almost a week. Even with the wealth of photos documenting the damage, it’s difficult to get a sense of the scale of the tragedy. I also think there’s a tendency to assume that what you’re seeing is already ‘old news’, that someone will have already cleaned up that mess by now. It’s not the case.
On Friday I ventured to La Torre. One of the most accessible affected villages, it’s benefitted from heaps of volunteers who have taken the thirty minute walk from the bottom of my neighbourhood. Traversing across the ‘solidarity bridge’ leading from the city proper to the affected zones is like going from one world to another.
Descending on the Southern side on Friday morning, my two friends, who had been part of the relief effort from the very first day, advised me that now was the time to wrap my hiking boots in plastic bags. In sharp contrast to the Northern side of the bridge, sticky brown mud was already everywhere, in some places up to your ankles. On Friday, four days into the disaster, overturned, banged-up cars still littered every street, with trucks crushed into the side of houses.
I followed my two friends as they zig zagged through the streets of La Torre to the house of their friends, a young family who live just one road over from the church. It was busier with volunteers today, they said, but there was still a lack of officials on the streets. We saw a handful of police, who were stopping traffic, and one Guardia Civil car drove past us.
Moving into La Torre proper, I was struck by the piles of furniture that had formed outside each house. Chairs, tables, books, kitchen items. Someone’s life, broken and covered in mud.
Throughout the village a thick brown, mossy line was ominously drawn across the walls, inside and out. Reaching about 1.6metres high, it came to around my mouth, a reminder of just how high the water had come.
We worked all day, silently cleaning the walls, then the floors, then the rooms, then the floors again, then the objects, then the floors again, of this family. All that cleaning would still have to be done many more times over - this was just a start - but it was something that, selfishly, allowed me to feel we were doing something.
Each time we’d exit the house, to stretch our back, snatch a quick lunch or feel a little sun on our face, we would be confronted by the fact that not much out ‘there’ had changed, except for the arrival of more helpers who had come to do their bit, including two trucks of firefighters at about 1pm. We saw them work tirelessly to start moving the cars and pumping water out of ground floor garages and houses with the help of volunteers. We could only hope that others like them had made it out to some of the more cut-off villages.
Anger feels useful, and delays the other inevitable feelings
I do not share my testimony because I feel saintly. Honestly, a big part of me did not want to go and help in person on Friday. I felt dread at what I was going to find. I was scared about the potential risk of structural damage on volunteers. I had also woken up Friday morning with a splitting headache. I wondered if I was better placed making food and buying supplies for others, which I had already done on Thursday.
But as soon as I got there, I was so glad I had come in person, and that I could do something. Even if at times that ‘something’ was quietly cleaning Playmobil figurines covered in mud, which belonged to the family’s four year old son.
I went home with a sense of fresh anger and purpose, transposed onto me from what I’d witnessed, and from those who feel their lives have been reduced to a political football kicked between parties for sport. I wanted to rage. To tell everyone I knew what I had seen, and what was happening to people.
And then, twenty-four hours later, I felt a crash of emotion, as the magnitude of what is really happening hits you. Because whilst anger feels useful - and it is, giving you the energy to help, donate, connect, clean - it’s also delaying the other, more painful stages of grief.
Those stages where we begin to feel the inevitable sadness and incomprehension at the loss of over two hundred members of our community, and the hundreds of thousands left behind to pick up the pieces.
“El poble salva al poble”. It shouldn’t be this way. But it is. So let’s get to work.
How you can help
There is still so much to do in Valencia. The clean-up operation will take months, possibly years. And that’s not just individual families’ houses. National roads are in ruins, the high-speed trainline to Madrid is down, the city Metro could be shut for months.
Volunteering in the neighbourhoods
If you are in the city, I’d urge you to volunteer however you feel safe and able to. This might involve going to the affected neighbourhoods to take supplies or help clean.
If you are going this week, I’d recommend taking a thermos of hot food or water - many are not able to cook hot food.
Don’t forget to take gloves and a mask for yourself, along with food and water.
Bin bags, a bucket, and packs of cleaning cloths will also be useful - the mud is thick and easily ‘infects’ everything. I washed items three times to get them basic levels of clean.
Expect to get muddy and dress accordingly. Clean and disinfect your clothing on arrivsl home.
Ask people what they need and do not assume. If you go and you are standing around not being useful, just come back. The last thing these villages need is more chaos. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, as the saying goes
Listen out for any announcements or further weather warnings. Don’t take unnecessary risks in trying to help people.
Dropping items off at collection points
If you are unable to go in person, you can take items in need to the various pick-up points and shelters including:
Valencia C.F at the Mestalla Stadium.
Cantina Ruzafa, Calle Literato Azorin 13, Ruzafa.
Make a donation to the relief effort
There are also a number of organisations doing amazing work in Valencia and you can donate to them directly to support their work:
World Central Kitchen who are making meals in affected areas.
I will be donating this month’s paid subscriptions to the effort, as well as finding other ways to support the Valencia community in the coming months. Thank you.
And finally, special thanks to
who with her husband, James, has been an incredible force of nature organising us to help her dear friends in La Torre.
Ohhh Emma, I had no idea, thank you for sharing and informing me, us, everyone. Gentle hugs and empathy.
Your words bring this tragedy to life no matter how distant we may be in geographically. Thank you for this. I will done and share.