Emma Kelsey

Spain is a Catholic country – in culture, in history, in identity, in faith – but not necessarily in practice. These past two months in Madrid, I have observed very few remnants of what was once a strongly Catholic state. Churches seem to be frequented more often by tourists than by parishioners, and those who do attend mass are usually immigrants or the elderly. On Ash Wednesday, when at Georgetown half the people I greet bear crosses dusted on their foreheads, here I did not see even one person wearing this reminder that “you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

Instead, days after, on the weekend following Ash Wednesday, I experienced the Spanish tradition of Carnaval. With raucous Carnaval celebrations continuing after Ash Wednesday and in to Lent, it seems that what was once a religious celebration has lost its Christian meaning and is much more a celebration of the tradition and culture of Andalucian Spain. This seems to be a pattern in many of the “Catholic” practices one can observe throughout Spain; though they may have originated from religious belief, they are now more of a cultural than a religious expression. Though Catholicism is so ingrained in the culture, rather than an active participation in the faith, most Spaniards I have met will passively say that they are Catholics or were raised as such, and that they rarely, if ever, practice the faith.

Carnaval, the Spanish equivalent of Mardi Gras, is a precursor to Lent, a last hurrah before Catholics enter in to the period of discipline and self-sacrifice in order to pray and walk with Jesus during his forty days in the desert. Some say Carnaval evolved from ancient Pagan rituals welcoming in the spring, such as the Roman solstice festival of Saturnalia. This Pagan celebration was later utilized by Christian rulers as an approved period of excess before the austerity of Lent.

Carnaval in Spain eventually became a major yearly celebration, with floats, song, dance, costumes, and revelry. Later, under Franco’s dictatorship, the Carnaval celebrations were banned, though some carried on in secret or at different times of year. With the end of Franco’s regime, Carnaval came back in full force, and has become world-renowned for its unique traditions and for the enthusiasm with which Spaniards celebrate. There’s no question that Carnaval is an incredibly important tradition in Spain. However, whether the holiday maintains its religious ties is certainly debatable.

A group of us from the Georgetown in Madrid program traveled to Cádiz to experience Carnaval. One of the biggest celebrations in all of Spain, the Cádiz festivities are over a two week period, with the final events on the weekend following Ash Wednesday. Despite Lent already having started, we found ourselves among huge crowds of revelers, all in costume and enthusiastically celebrating the holiday with parades and music. It was essentially a giant street party, and, without a doubt, one of the most fun experiences I’ve had in Spain. Cádiz, a charming waterfront town, is transformed during this time into a crazy destination for visitors from all over Spain. However, the only signs of religion we ever saw were the many cheeky nun costumes all over the city. We even ran into a big group of locals parading through the streets in priestly robes and singing religious songs, but carrying bibles that they would flash open to show pictures straight from the pages of Playboy!

Carnaval is, of course, a time for irreverence, and for poking a little fun at religion before entering that somber period of Lent, but I wondered whether any ties to the holiday’s religious origins really still exist at all. Spain is no longer the fervently Catholic country it once was. As the country’s population becomes ever more secular, will only the religion disappear, or will these traditions and celebrations disappear too? I hope that even if the Catholic Church continues to lose its foothold in Spain, the Spaniards make an effort to preserve the unique traditions that paint the Spanish identity. I’m confident that with the pride and enthusiasm that the Spanish people manifest in these celebrations, they will manage to do so.

Seeing the news of the death of Osama bin Laden from my computer screen, 3,000 miles away from my friends at the White House, felt like a completely different experience from that of those back at Georgetown. The sudden stream of Facebook statuses that alerted me to his death were somewhat unsettling – among them were clever jokes about the circumstances of his death, or triumphant cheers at his demise. Perhaps it was celebration over the symbolic meaning of his death, rather than the death itself or its actual implications for security and the war in Aghanistan, but it still seemed inappropriate.

Here in Spain, the other Georgetown students and I have been told by our classmates how surprised they are that we are open-minded and not ignorant or blindly patriotic as they expected. In Spain, Americans are often thought of as aggressive, domineering, and patriotic to a fault, and reading these statuses I almost felt that this reputation was deserved. On the cover of the New York Times website was a picture of a Hoya in front of the White House cheering with the crowds. I didn’t know what to make of the situation, but running to the white house to cheer seemed a wholly inappropriate reaction.

Days later in my Política Exterior de España class, I was confronted with a very distinct reaction to the events that had taken place. In a different vein, when asked about their opinions on bin Laden’s death, the Spanish and Erasmus students were not celebrating at all. Rather, they were questioning whether he was actually dead and why the United States was so quiet on the issue and the news reports so muddled.

I was surprised to see the extent of their distrust of both American politicians and international news outlets. They also questioned what it would mean for international security and future threats both to America and to their respective countries, and the moral implications of such a move. The one point that was stressed the most was that the killing of bin Laden was a clear violation of international law. It was shocking to compare the “mission accomplished” reactions of my friends at home to the complete disapproval of my Spanish classmates (though a few did see it as a step forward).

This juxtaposition of American jubilation and Spanish inquietude underscored the differences in values that I have observed since I arrived. One friend, a Georgetown grad, shared a quote that seemed more similar to the Spanish line of thought and particularly spoke to me. The Vatican had responded to bin Laden’s death saying, “In front of the death of a man, a Christian never rejoices but rather reflects on the grave responsibility of each one in front of God and men, and hopes and commits himself so that every moment not be an occasion for hatred to grow but for peace.”

While Spain is no longer strongly Catholic, I do think that Catholic values still shape the national character and morals. It may not be a religious country at the present, but perhaps the religious tradition is what drives the Spanish value for human life. Not only is this value expressed in the reticence of Spaniards to celebrate a death, even that of a terrorist, but also in their vehement opposition to the death penalty and their denouncement of torture. The “dignity of human life,” is something I rarely hear spoken of in America, even as an (occasionally) practicing Catholic. When this principle of Catholic Social Teaching is brought up, it’s usually in reference to abortion, not to issues such as torture, capital punishment, or war. Here in Spain, human life of all forms is fiercely protected.

Or perhaps it is not religion, but rather Spain’s own history of fascism, terrorism, war, and violence that makes my Spanish classmates question the killing of bin Laden. Spain is, by and large, much more pacifistic than the United States. There is no right to bear arms as there is in the US, and a single incidence of assault or police brutality is much bigger news here in Spain than it would be in DC. After devastating wars and years under Franco’s dictatorship, Spain’s bloody past serves as a reminder to avoid violence.

In contrast, no recent war has taken place on American soil. Removed from the crude reality of war, Americans seem quick to jump on the bandwagon of patriotism without thinking through the implications of such a moment. One (albeit significant) triumph in a long war cannot undo the thousands of lives sacrificed on both sides, nor bring justice to the victims. The Papal response reminds us that rather than fight for a victory at any cost, we should fight for peace.