There was something so incongruous about the sight of King Felipe of Spain, mud-splattered by raging elements of a crowd in Paiporta, a suburb of Valencia. It’s a timeless royal tradition, to take a walkabout through a fresh disaster. It’s meant to show empathy and leadership, and ideally something even more profound: a togetherness of nationhood that transcends any gulf of status. It’s meant to be healing.
It does, however, require from the public a hell of a lot of deference, to overlook certain things: for instance, that your home is destroyed, you have no food or nappies, and this guy in his pristine shirt and cargo pants will shortly get back in his SUV and go home to his dry and exquisitely appointed quarters. You’d have to avoid asking questions such as: how much is this helping? Wouldn’t it have been preferable to have had some warning of the floods, rather than commiseration afterwards? Is it too soon for a ceremonial visit, when weather warnings are still in place and possibly up to 2,000 people are still unaccounted for? But is it also too late, as one resident shouted: “It’s been four days – where have you been? You’ve just come here to pose for pictures. You have no shame!”
