No man's land - Text written by Isabel Coixet, an internationally renowned, Barcelona-born movie director.

My face is red as I write this. Not out of embarrassment, but out of rage. Two individuals with esteladas [Catalan secessionist flags] wrapped around their necks started screaming at me outside my door this morning, calling me a “fascist” and yelling “You should be ashamed!”. [...]

They continued to yell, so I turned around and calmly – even now, two hours later, I am still amazed at how calm I remained – said: “Aren’t you ashamed to talk to me this way if you don’t even know me?” They kept right on screaming. The dog was pulling on the leash. I walked away. But this is the third time that they have yelled “fascist” at me so far this week (and the first time that I have answered back). And I find that something inside me is breaking. These last few months, the level of hatred aimed at us is reaching new heights [...]

I see now, with horrifying clarity, that no matter what happens next, there is no room here for me or for anybody who dares to think independently, even though this is my birthplace. Today it is insults against me, yesterday it was insults against members of my family; the day before it was insults against friends of mine whose other friends openly criticize the fact that the former are still friends with me. And tomorrow, it will be something worse.

And you think about the fear that has already covered, like spores, the skin of all those people who keep quiet but who secretly come tell you that they’re on your side – that they are grateful for what you are doing, and then they tell you that they don’t even talk about the situation inside their own homes, for fear that their children will hear them and get into trouble at school [...]

While I think about all this, I am starting to calm down. After all, mine is a First World problem. As I have often done in the past, I am trying to minimize what is happening to me in order to avoid feeding the monster of hate that would make me indistinguishable from those who now insult me. [...]

I never thought that speaking one’s mind respectfully and honestly would come at such a high price. And yet I would not for the world trade this dry, silent no-man’s land in which I find myself, which I know that many people find themselves in – a place without any chanting or screaming or slogans, where the air only blows against white flags that whisper the word “Help” into the wind, in the vain hope that someone, somewhere, will listen before it is too late [...]