Víctimas, 3 de agosto: Fernando Amor Calvo y María Paz Diéguez Fernández

Libertad Digital.

El 3 de agosto de 1985 el artificiero de la Guardia Civil FERNANDO AMOR CALVO falleció durante el proceso de desactivación de un artefacto explosivo colocado por la banda terrorista ETA en Luyando (Álava). La bomba, seis kilos de Goma 2 dentro de una caja de galletas, había sido colocada junto a la puerta del disco-pub El Peñón.

Hacia las seis de la mañana de ese día, un comunicante anónimo alertó a la Cruz Roja de Amurrio de la colocación del explosivo en el vecino pueblo de Luyando. Desde la Cruz Roja dieron aviso a la Ertzaintza, que todavía no disponía de una unidad de artificieros. Ese fue el motivo por el que recurrieron a los expertos de la Guardia Civil.

Tras desalojar las viviendas próximas al pub, los artificieros de la Benemérita intentaron en un primer momento provocar la explosión del artefacto empleando agua a presión y efectuando varios disparos. Al no conseguirlo decidieron desactivarlo manualmente. En el momento en el que Fernando Amor Calvo se disponía a hacerlo, el artefacto estalló.

El artificiero fue trasladado inmediatamente al Hospital de Cruces de Bilbao, donde fue atendido por un equipo de médicos desde primeras horas de la mañana. Presentaba fracturas de cráneo y pierna derecha, amputación traumática de ambas manos y estallido pulmonar bilateral. Falleció a las 12:30 horas.

Fuentes oficiales señalaron que la colocación del artefacto tenía por objetivo el disco-pub El Peñón y descartaron que fuera una bomba trampa destinada a atentar contra la Guardia Civil.

La capilla ardiente quedó instalada en el cuartel de la Guardia Civil de Vitoria y los funerales religiosos se celebraron al día siguiente, 4 de agosto, a la una del mediodía en la parroquia de Nuestra Señora de los Dolores de la capital alavesa. El féretro fue conducido por compañeros de la víctima desde el acuartelamiento de la Guardia Civil de Sansomendi hasta la iglesia. El funeral estuvo presidido por el director de la Seguridad del Estado, Julián Sancristóbal -que acudió a Vitoria en representación del ministro del Interior, José Barrionuevo-; el director de la Guardia Civil, general José Antonio Sáenz de Santamaría; los gobernadores civiles de Álava y Vizcaya, y mandos de la Policía Nacional, de la propia Guardia Civil y de la Ertzaintza.

Fernando Amor Calvo, de 25 años de edad, era natural de San Saturnino (La Coruña). Llevaba en la Guardia Civil desde 1981 y pertenecía al equipo de los Tedax de la Comandancia de Álava. Se había casado unas semanas antes de su fallecimiento, en el mes de junio.

El 3 de agosto de 1987 fallecía en el Hospital del Valle de Hebrón MARÍA PAZ DIÉGUEZ FERNÁNDEZ, mes y medio después de que la banda terrorista ETA hiciera explotar un coche-bomba en el aparcamiento de Hipercor en Barcelona. María Paz fue la vigesimoprimera víctima mortal del atentado. El fallecimiento se produjo como consecuencia de "una infección muy grave y generalizada en todo su cuerpo que culminó con una hemorragia digestiva (...). La víctima, con quemaduras en el 80% de su cuerpo, había sido sometida a una operación de incisión de las quemaduras y de cobertura con injertos de piel de otras partes del cuerpo", según rezaba el parte médico (El País, 04/08/1987).

María Paz Diéguez Fernández tenía 57 años y era natural de Martiño-O Bolo (Orense). Estaba casada con Albino Fernández Cueto y tenía dos hijos. Su funeral y entierro tuvieron lugar el 6 de agosto en su localidad natal, sin presencia de autoridades oficiales por expreso deseo de la familia.

Why prison doesn't work and what to do about it

Prison time is a very severe punishment. JS Mill likened it to being consigned to a living tomb.* Any society that employs it should do so with care and restraint. Yet we do not. Partly because we think that prison is a humane punishment, it is drastically over-used in many countries, to the point of cruelty. Aside from failing in humanity, prison does not even perform well at the specific functions of a criminal justice system, namely, deterrence, retribution, security, and rehabilitation. We need to reconsider our over-reliance on prison, and reconsider whether other types of punishment, including capital and corporal punishment, may sometimes be more effective and more humane.

The fundamental problem with prison time, as Mill notes, is that its severity is hard to imagine. After all, many of us frequently find that what with one thing and another we have spent the whole day indoors, and we don't find that we have really suffered for it. It is hard to imagine quite how it must be to be confined to a small space and narrow routine for periods of years, or even until death. There is no great drama to focus on. No particularly terrible things happen. Just more of the nothing. Attempting to multiply our feelings about spending one day indoors does not really get us there.

A punishment that is hard to imagine will not work very well. First, people contemplating breaking the law will not be especially deterred by dread of the punishment. In particular, though the concept of prison as an institution may be somewhat dismaying, it is hard to contemplate the difference in severity of spending different lengths of time in one. Duration is a rather abstract dimension, and the difference between 5 years and 10 years, especially the cumulative difference, is hard to imagine. Thus, contrary to the influential 'law and economics' perspective, people are not able respond 'rationally' to the schedule of prison time sentences for different crimes by making cost-benefit calculations for their actions that incorporate the 'price' of punishment. Nor do increases in sentences have the deterrent effect one might expect (sending armed robbers to prison for 40 years instead of 10 doesn't reduce the incidence of armed robbery).

A punishment that is hard to imagine will also not satisfy the moral outrage of those who have been wronged. If a child is run down by a drunk driver, not only the parents but the society as a whole demands a severe punishment. Though a criminal justice system cannot be run on populist grounds in particular cases (that would just be mob rule), in order for justice to be seen to be done it does need to respond to those demands to some extent. Thus, even though the professionals staffing the justice system may understand the severity of prison time as a punishment, their judgement may be superseded by the pressures of popular opinion. This is most evident where populist politics are integrated into the justice system, such as in America where judges and prosecutors are often directly elected.

Where prison is the only severe punishment available, and length of time the only measure of severity, one will naturally find that very long sentences will be handed out in such cases. On an impartial view of the matter, the severity of the punishment often seems quite disproportionate. And yet the people will often remain dissatisfied. After all, aren't some prisons like hotels, with TVs and private bathrooms no less! To many people even 10 years confinement to such a place hardly seems a just punishment for driving over an innocent child.

This dissatisfaction lies behind the dismaying popularity of inhumane prison conditions, seen most clearly in the pervasiveness of sly jokes and official winking about prison violence and rape. One can understand this phenomenon as a reaction to the imaginative shortcomings of simple prison time as a punishment. If prisons are understood as places of physical and sexual violence, then a prison sentence takes on a much more dramatic character that is easier to imagine for both potential criminals (deterrence) and victims of crime (retribution). But this is a very dissatisfactory fix. In effect the punishment of prison time comes in two parts. The judicial sentence that society's justice institutions decides is right and proper. And an additional physical punishment outsourced to the most vicious and violent thugs in the relevant prison community to determine and administer. Such punishment has the unfortunate characteristics of being only haphazardly related to the original crime, and in falling most heavily upon those who are weakest and most vulnerable.

Two criminal justice functions unrelated to punishment are also relevant: rehabilitation and security. The rehabilitation argument is a humanitarian one. Dysfunctional people commit crimes, including terrible crimes. Yet everyone deserves a second chance. Prison time appears to offer a way to impose rehabilitation on criminals, since they are a captive audience. This was an important argument by liberals in proposing prison as the best form of punishment in the 19th century. (Hence the rather optimistic terminology of 'correctional facilities' and 'penitentiaries'.)

Yet rehabilitation as an aim fits poorly with the punishment emphasis, as is clear from the generally high reoffending rates of ex-convicts in many countries (particularly the ones that use prison the most). It is possible for those who genuinely want to make a change in their lives and are willing to work to change their character and tackle problems like drug addiction to use their time in prison productively (if they are provided with adequate support and counselling, during and after their sentence). But the very circumstances of prison - long term isolation from the rest of society, from positive relationships such as family and friends, and from positive responsibilities like regular work - seem to work against rehabilitation. Convicts' lives are likely to be more dominated by the prison community they are living in than the values of the normal society to which they are supposed to return. Thus, it is not surprising that many people who spend significant time in prison seem to become further acculturated in criminal values and attitudes and actually emerge less willing and able to function normally in society. Others are traumatised by the experience of surviving in such a community.

At least prison should be justifiable in terms of security? While it is true that, so long as they are locked up, criminals can't prey on society, the question of security always requires some attention to costs and benefits. After all, if security were our only concern we would have police on every corner; people with genetic markers for schizophrenia or psychopathy would be committed to institutions from childhood; and people found guilty of attempted murder would go to prison for as long as murderers. An excessive focus on security undermines the freedoms we want to protect, as well as principles we want to uphold, like fairness.

Even if someone has committed a serious crime and deserves to be punished severely, that does not necessarily mean that they present a danger we need to be protected from. Corporate fraudsters for example can be made safe relatively easily by removing their rights to manage companies. Likewise even those who commit very serious violent crimes may not be particularly dangerous; for example women who kill abusive husbands do not go around killing other people. Quite often, people are sentenced to prison for the worst thing they have ever done, and not for being dangerous. Thus, little to no security benefits are achieved from their stay in prison. Of course there are people whose character can be said to be criminal, and who do present a risk to society for as long as they are free, but these are a small minority of those who are now sent to prison. The way we use prison now assumes that all convicts are criminal characters, which is not only false, but a very inefficient way of trying to achieve security.

What to do?

First, we should recognise that our failures of imagination lead us to overuse prison as a punishment. Because prison is a severe punishment, excessive use of it is unjust. Millions of people are serving unjustifiably long sentences in living tombs as a result of our inability to take prison seriously. Our criminal justice systems should be much more restrained in their use of prison as punishment, and much more insulated from popular demands for excessive sentences. Society at large also has a responsibility to think harder about how very severe a punishment prison is, and to support such reforms. A more generous and rigorous approach to rehabilitation, perhaps incorporating forms of restorative justice, seems particularly important for a society that wants to call itself civilised.

In addition, we should consider supplementing prison time with other types of punishments, which might be more effective and humane. Here I will consider two such punishments which 'civilised' countries have long abandoned: flogging and execution. Many people would automatically say that such punishments are inhumane. But the very reason for this reaction - that such punishments are extremely unpleasant to contemplate - is exactly their advantage over prison time.  

Flogging is barbaric and ugly. Yet that in itself does not mean it is cruel or inhumane or otherwise unfit as a punishment. Punishments, by definition, are supposed to be very unpleasant. Peter Moskos, who recently wrote a book In Defense of Flogging (op-ed), notes that if convicted criminals were given a choice between being flogged and serving a lengthy prison term, they would probably choose the flogging (and wouldn't we all?). While one would not want to make a general principle of allowing convicts to decide their own punishments, this thought experiment is interesting because it goes against the general consensus that prison is more humane.

When one considers the advantages of flogging more generally one can see that it measures up well against prison time, especially longer prison sentences (more than a year). Its drama makes it much easier to imagine, indeed to over-imagine, and so it should work better than prison as a deterrent. For the same reason, it also seems better able to satisfy legitimate demands for retribution by those who have been wronged. Seeing someone strapped to a frame and having their skin ripped from their body seems to me to convincingly satisfy the requirement that justice be seen to be done, in a way that prison cannot. Yet, unlike prison, achieving this effect doesn't require that large chunks of a person's life be thrown away, together with their relationships and mental well-being. Thus, exactly because of its barbarism, flogging seems a more efficient punishment because the total suffering it inflicts is less. In my view, that makes it more humane.


Execution seems to me an appropriate punishment for very severe crimes, such as certain kinds of sadistic murder (like Anders Breivik). I do not suppose judicial executions are a particularly persuasive deterrent to most of the people who commit such crimes (indeed it is very hard to understand how such people look at the world). Nonetheless they seem an appropriate retributive punishment. Such crimes are almost the definition of evil and undoubtedly merit a very severe punishment. Furthermore, in such cases society has a legitimate fear of the perpetrators ever being allowed to operate freely amongst them, and a legitimate distrust of claims about successful rehabilitation.

Yet I do not think that even such crimes deserve any punishment more severe than execution. I do not believe that the perpetrators deserve to be locked away forever in a living tomb, perhaps even in solitary confinement for their own protection. While people in prison do live considerably shorter lives than the rest of us, that still allows for several decades of monotonous hopelessness before a miserable, unmourned death. I follow Mill here in considering that death is not the worst of all things that can happen to a person, and that merely allowing someone's continued existence is not mercy. A truly humane approach to punishment must consider the severity of the punishment from the convict's perspective, the undramatic but unrelenting mental suffering that a life sentence means.

Let me conclude by reconsidering what we mean by a 'humane' punishment. It seems to me that prison time is a humane punishment in one particular aspect. It is humane to those who impose it. Because it is difficult to imagine how awful it must be to be deprived for years on end of all the things that make life desirable or valuable, prison time is all too easy for a society to choose to impose on its troublemakers. Furthermore, because it appears to consist of removing pleasures rather than inflicting suffering, societies do not feel any great moral compunction about employing it liberally. It is therefore the perfect punishment for a society too cowardly to face up to its own moral responsibilities. True punishment is supposed to hurt, and the punisher is supposed to be aware of their responsibility for inflicting that pain. That is why true punishment is always carried out with some regret, even when it is just. When punishing people becomes easy it isn't taken seriously, and so will no longer reflect the considered judgement of society about what justice requires.

Consider the debate about  judicial executions in America. Because execution isgenerally acknowledged as a severe punishment, its proper application is considered a momentous responsibility. Not only are the few hundred death penalty cases much more carefully prosecuted by the state (on average), but a number of NGOs concern themselves entirely with investigating and scrutinising whether justice has been done. Indeed, the conscience of a civilised society deserves no less. Yet it is striking that the more than 100,000 people sentenced to decades of suffering in prison do not receive such careful attention to the justice of their cases. Sending large numbers of people to prison for a very long time doesn't seem to stir America's conscience in the same way as a 'real punishment' like execution. It should. 


Notes
*JS Mill "Speech In Favour of Capital Punishment", Parliament, 1868

Una historia austriaca de la empresa y los empresarios

por Luis Alberto Iglesias.

Audio en la entrada original.

Voy a hacer una apuesta contigo. Apuesto a que alguna vez has comido en un MacDonald’s, a que has trabajado con un PC con sistema operativo Windows, a que alguna vez has tomado un café sentado en un Starbucks, y a que has tomado fotos con una cámara digital. Estamos rodeados de productos y servicios que en algún momento de la historia no fueron más que un sueño en la mente de un empresario.

Si tienes curiosidad por conocer las aventuras y vicisitudes que condujeron al nacimiento de empresas tan importantes como Starbucks, MacDonald’s, Wal-Mart, Ford o Microsoft, te invito a escuchar Una historia austriaca de la empresa y los empresarios, una Conversación en libertad en que Luis Alberto Iglesias y Alejandro Gómez —historiador, profesor de la Escuela de Negocios de la Universidad Francisco Marroquín, y autor de Creadores de riqueza, publicado recientemente por Unión Editorial— examinan, entre otras cuestiones:

• Los rasgos culturales y sociales que fomentan el emprendimiento.
• El origen del desprecio a los empresarios y la crítica de la riqueza a lo largo de la historia.
• Cómo fomentar el emprendimiento en los niños y los jóvenes.
• Una lección de perseverancia y tenacidad proveniente de Howard Schultz, el fundador de Starbucks.
• Cómo las compañías de éxito utilizan los errores para fomentar la innovación.

Para Alejandro Gómez los empresarios son agentes civilizadores que nos permiten mejorar como personas y progresar como sociedad gracias a sus ideas; emprendedores que compiten en el mercado y que con talento y sagacidad generan adelantos que facilitan nuestra vida y nos hacen más productivos. Su historia y la de las sociedades que ayudaron a crear la encontrarás magistralmente narrada en Creadores de riqueza.

Educación para la libertad es un proyecto que nace por creer que el conocimiento es la vacuna contra la ignorancia que vuelve a las sociedades presas fáciles de demagogos, totalitarismos e ideas incorrectas. Espero que disfrutes esta Conversación en libertad.

Un cordial saludo,

Luis Alberto Iglesias

Nota 1: Esta Conversación en libertad con Alejandro Gómez es la primera de una serie de entrevistas que grabé recientemente en Lanzarote con los profesores de la VII Universidad de Verano del Instituto Juan de Mariana. Aunque he hecho lo posible por limpiar los ruidos de fondo, confío en que sabrás disculpar la voz ocasional del viento, del mar, del sol, del agua, y de los niños jugando en la piscina.

Nota 2: En un momento de la conversación Alejandro Gómez se refiere a este libro: The Myth of the Robber Barons.

España no es Estonia

por Ángel Martín.

Pero durante unos años Estonia sí fue España (*): burbuja inmobiliaria, crédito abundante y fácil, entrada masiva de inversiones y capitales extranjeros, demanda creciendo a ritmos muy elevados, sobreendeudamiento de los agentes económicos, gran déficit exterior, deterioro de competitividad por inflación diferencial…

(*) Si no lo digo probablemente se me diría en comentarios: en la comparación entre Estonia y España obviamente hay matices importantes y grandes distancias: en tamaño del país, nivel de renta per cápita, aspectos sociológicos e históricos etc. Espero que se me entienda.

Es decir, con los matices correspondientes, Estonia vivió un proceso de expansión económica insostenible similar a lo que vivió España. El crash del país báltico, al igual que sus vecinos, fue de impresión, con caídas que llegaron a casi el 18% del PIB en 2009 en el caso de Letonia, y cerca del 15% en el caso de Estonia y Lituania. La manera de afrontar la depresión en Estonia (llamémosle así) ha sido muy diferente a la aplicada en los periféricos europeos, y en concreto en España. Así también ha sido diferente la recuperación.

Miren el siguiente gráfico: qué país está el primero y cuál el último en lo que se refiere a previsiones del crecimiento del PIB en 2013.

Presten atención a este dato: su deuda pública es del ¡6% del PIB! El siguiente país que menos deuda por PIB tiene es… Luxemburgo con el 18%. Le siguen países más normales como Eslovaquia, Eslovenia y Finlandia (oscilando entre 43% y 49%). Vean este gráfico adicional a continuación:

Y… tomen nota: Estonia es el único país de los 17 de la Eurozona, junto con Malta, que ha reducido su tasa de desempleo en el último año, pasando del 13.6 al 11%. (Hay que matizar que esta tasa aumentó muy rápido en la etapa del crash).

En fin, que si están más interesados, pueden leer más sobre el ciclo económico en los países bálticos y Estonia en estos enlaces:

• –Exposición powerpoint (desactualizado): Auge y crisis en los países bálticos.
• –Post donde enlazo varios artículos.
• –Rallo sobre la crítica de Krugman a la gestión de la crisis de Estonia y a su supuesto éxito.

Pero lo que venía a hacer originalmente con este post es, básicamente, recomendar un genial artículo de hace unos días de Business Week, titulado Krugmenistan vs Estonia. El periodista entrevista a varios jugadores importantes de la gestión económica de la crisis de Estonia, y lo contrapone con la postura de Krugman, de quien también hay varias declaraciones. No tiene desperdicio. Aquí dejo algunos extractos destacados:

En Estonia el desempleo alcanzó máximos del 16%. Ahora el desempleo está en 10.8% tras duras medidas austeridad. No parece que las medidas de contracción del gasto público en medio de una recesión lleven necesariamente a una espiral contractiva sin suelo, ¿verdad?

there were two crashes in Estonia. One came from the global slowdown. One came because Estonians thought they were richer than they were.

¿Les suena?

Aun así, las condiciones de vida en el país báltico distan de ser las de un país desarrollado. Lo que no evita que vivieran por encima de sus posibilidades.

El salario medio de Estonia es un 10% inferior al salario mínimo en Grecia. La edad de jubilación mucho más alta que en el país heleno, etc. Y claro, luego ven que los europeos rescatan a Grecia, y ellos que han hecho grandísimos sacrificios, se ven ninguneados.

Right now, Estonia seems to show that monetary and fiscal restraint can, after pain, create growth. “If you look back, the crash is very good”, le comenta al periodista el Ministro de Finanzas del gobierno estonio. “The crash was necessary to correct our understanding about growth potential.”

The “dreadful developments” of the boom years in Estonia: Private debt increased from 10 percent to 100 percent of GDP; housing bubble…

It’s very difficult to understand for American people why some crazy Estonians decided to join the euro zone during the crisis (Primer Ministro de Estonia)

Un hecho interesante, que quizás haya tenido que ver en la buena recuperación de Estonia: sus mayores socios comerciales son Finlandia y Suecia, que no han sufrido tanto de la Gran Recesión.

A un músico estonio: Should the government have borrowed money to keep unemployment low? “No,” he says. “We don’t want to be like Greece.”

De postre, lean esta excelente columna de Alberto Artero sobre la gestión del gobierno popular: Mucha improvisación y poco análisis: los 180 días que Rajoy ha tirado por la borda.

Miren una cosa: si me dan a elegir entre las ‘pastillas del doctor gustín’ que ofrecen nuestros políticos al más puro estilo gatopardiano, que todo cambie para que siga exactamente igual… para ellos, y un electro shock que reanime de una vez los órganos vitales de una economía colapsada como la nuestra, me quedo con lo segundo. No quiero seguir ni un minuto más en la ensoñación de quien aún cree que cobrará las pensiones o que el estado del bienestar es gratuito cuando se trata de un derecho de imposición, pagado con los impuestos de quienes declaran. Estoy harto. Prefiero saber la verdad, acomodarla a mi modo de vida, trabajar sobre ese escenario y luchar por un futuro que, si no se desvela hoy, será peor mañana. Con cinco hijos, el mayor de 11 años, la indolencia es un  lujo que no me puedo permitir.

España no es Estonia…

Jardín Botánico. Madrid

Fotografías de María Jesús Martín Villar.