What could not be

It's April 16, Holy Wednesday, 2025. I leave Callao station with my camera slung over my shoulder and prepare to fasten the accreditation I picked up two days ago to photograph the penitential station of the Brotherhood of the Gypsies of Madrid to my jacket.

Madrid has been engulfed in a constant cloud cover for almost two months. The golden Spanish sun so envied by the rest of Europe has long since set, giving way to persistent and rather aggressive rain. At 7:12 p.m., I felt the first drops fall as I entered the Parish of Santísimo Cristo de la Salud, headquarters of the Brotherhood of the Gypsies in Madrid.

Inside the church, there is an atmosphere of fervor that is difficult to describe. The members of the brotherhood resemble a perfectly structured colony of ants. Behind the seemingly haphazard movement lies a meticulous organization where each member has their own role, their own tasks, and where camaraderie and mutual help are never lacking. The coming and going of people placing sacks, arranging capes, and lighting candles is an impressive demonstration of efficiency in a very limited space and time.

The Gypsy Brotherhood is ready in record time, but that's when the bad news comes from the Senior Brother: "The Board has decided to delay the departure until the rains subside." I look out the door to see that the drop I felt when I entered the parish church had turned into a nightmarish ocean of rain. It was then that I realized how absorbing the short half hour I had been locked in the church with them had been.

After the news, the atmosphere is filled with a contagious sense of unease. Even I, who have little or no faith in God, can't help but be filled with a strange feeling of unease. A penitential station goes beyond faith, for its purpose is based on firm roots of effort, brotherhood, and determination. It is then that faces lengthen, costumes are removed, and a curious penance of uncertainty begins.

As we wait for good news, the clock ticks, and every minute oscillates between hope and despair. Nerves are on edge, as months of preparation, rehearsals, and anticipation condensed into a few minutes of indecision.

The wait drags on, and although two attempts are made to leave, the persistent rains call for common sense. The Brother Mayor communicates the Board's final decision and announces, with tears in his eyes, that the penitential station will not be held to preserve the safety of the image and the members of the Brotherhood. It is then that tears flow from the brothers and sisters, leaving images worthy of our memory.

After this event, I can't help but think about the beauty of failure, of what couldn't be. While success is what we usually seek as human beings, especially in this society of excessive productivity, most of the time it is shrouded in a halo of coldness, superiority, and distance from others. Instead, it is in failure that people truly share and draw closer to one another, physically and spiritually. Ultimately, it is in failure that we can be most human.