“What we lost was not a number, it was wagons full of hope”.”
In a time dominated by statistics, balance sheets and graphs, there are phrases that stop the world in its tracks. Not because they are grandiloquent, but because they bring us back to the essential. The one uttered by Liliana Sáenz de la Torre during the funeral for the victims of the Adamuz accident is one of them. Not only for the pain it contains, but also for the moral authority from which it is pronounced.
I have listened to it several times and continues to impress me. It was not a political speech. Nor was it a legal argument. It was something more difficult and, for that very reason, more valuable.
We live in a society that has learned to manage tragedies with figures. To turn the irreparable into data. To protect ourselves emotionally by simplifying the complex. Faced with this inertia, Liliana did the opposite: humanised without trivialising, remembered without idealising, demanded without shouting. He named “the 45 on the train” not as a number, but as fathers, mothers, sons, brothers. As truncated life projects. As irreplaceable links.
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