Joaquim Cols Sabata

Once a football player, always a football player. @fcbarcelona_cat, @cemercantil, @cemanresa1906, @cfmartorell. Catalunya at my heart. England where my home is.

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@StevenVent101 True. Absolutely. I should write a book about it 😤

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@Cemanresa1906 Descansa en pau, mister

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@DaniNovarama Bill Shankly, the iconic Liverpool FC manager, famously quipped that while some view football as a matter of life and death, "I can assure you it is much, much more important than that"

[Yanis Varoufakis @yanisvaroufakis]

IN PRAISE OF FRANCESCA ALBANESE

There is a question that visits me in the small hours, when sleep will not come and the mind turns over old stones. The question is this: “What would I have done in the 1930s, on the morning after Kristallnacht?"

Not what I say I would have done. Not what I hope I would have done. But what would I actually have done—when the trains began to run, when the neighbours grew quiet, when the cost of decency became the loss of everything?

Most of us, I think, would have done little. Not from malice. From fear. From the soft, creeping conviction that someone else will speak, that the situation is complex, that we must be 'reasonable'. Lest we forget, the ordinary is the extraordinary's alibi. And how we have clung to that alibi! How we still cling to it!

And then, every once in a terrible while, someone appears who does not cling. Someone who steps forward when others step back. Someone who speaks the name of the thing when everyone else is busy naming something else.

Francesca Albanese is that someone.

She stands before the world—alone, unarmed, armed only with law and language and a rare courage—and she says what the centrists will not say, what the foreign ministries will not say, what the editorial boards will not say. She says: "This is a genocide. And we are watching it happen."

Do not tell me that is hyperbole. Do not tell me the term is contested. She has not used it lightly. She has used it as a physician arrives scientifically at a diagnosis—not to wound, but to warn. Not to inflame, but to name.

And for that, they have come for her. Oh, how they have come for her. Smears. Investigations. Vicious editorials. Frozen bank accounts. Dispossession of the only apartment she had ever owned. The machinery of the respectable turned to crush her. Because the respectable cannot abide what she represents: a mirror held up to their complicity.

Let us, once again, travel back to the 1930s. Back to the few who stood up when the trains began to run laden with Jewish people.

There was Aristides de Sousa Mendes, a Portuguese consul in Bordeaux. He defied his own government. He signed thousands of visas, by hand, for hours, until his fingers bled. He saved more lives than Schindler. And he died penniless, disgraced, erased.

There was a German officer in Warsaw named Wilm Hosenfeld. He hid a Jewish pianist in the rubble. He did not save thousands. He saved one. But that one—Władysław Szpilman—carried the memory. And memory is "the only haven from which we cannot be expelled."

There was Raoul Wallenberg. There were the villagers of Le Chambon. There were the anonymous, the quiet, the furious few who said: “Not on my watch.”

Francesca Albanese is their heir. Not because she carries a gun. Not because she hides refugees in her basement. But because she does something equally dangerous in a world that has perfected the art of not seeing. She sees. And she speaks.

She does not speak as a diplomat. Thank Goodness she doesn't! Diplomats have given us the language of "there are arguments on both sides" and "restraint" and "proportionality." Diplomatic language is the perfumed grave of moral clarity. No, she speaks as a jurist. As a human being. As a woman who has looked into the abyss and refused to call it a "complex geopolitical landscape".

Edna O'Brien once described a character who "had the recklessness of those who have already lost everything worth losing." Francesca Albanese has not lost everything. She has her dignity, her office, her voice, her family. But she has calculated the cost of speaking truth to power. And she has decided that that cost is infinitely less than the cost of silence.

What is that cost? Let us name it. She has been called antisemitic—she, who stands on the ground of international law forged in the ashes of Auschwitz and the fires of Nuremberg. She has been called a conspiracy theorist—she, who cites every source, every footnote, every UN resolution. She has been called naive—she, who understands better than most the machinery of realpolitik.

These accusations are not arguments. They are the spittle of the threatened. Because Francesca Albanese threatens something very precious to the powerful: the right to commit atrocity without being named.

Friends, the 1930s did not arrive with jackboots and pogroms on day one. They arrived in small increments. With "reasonable" restrictions. With "proportional" measures. With the silence of the respectable.

We tell ourselves that we would have been different. That we would have been Sousa Mendes. That we would have been Wallenberg. But most of us, I fear, would have been the neighbours who later said, "I didn't know."

Francesca Albanese knows. And she refuses to pretend otherwise.

So let us praise her. Not with statues or awards she does not seek. But with something harder: with our own refusal to look away. With our own voices, raised in places that are safe for us but dangerous for her. With our own bodies, if it comes to that.

A brave woman, who was injured while demonstrating outside a US nuclear military base in 1982, the infamous Greenham Common, had told me that "the heart is a hunter for what it cannot have." But I say the heart is a hunter for what it will not lose. And what we will not lose is the memory of those who stood up when standing up cost everything.

Francesca Albanese is standing up now. In our time. In our name. Under our indifferent sky.

Let us stand with her.

Not tomorrow. Not when it is safe. Now.

[Extract from a speech in Athens on Sunday 3rd May 2026]

[Òscar Andreu @OscarAndreu]

🚨ATENCIÓ! 10 màximes que els parlants (presents i futurs) de català haurien de saber peti qui peti. (I si no el parlen… doncs també). 🔥

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@Raimon Pes Pérez, Andújar Oliver o Raúl Pérez de Loza

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@Yonyu23 Em venen al cap unes quantes empreses entre les 10 més valorades a Espanya que estan pensant moure la seva seu social Noruega. O no.

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@etfelicitofill 30 + 12 + 7 + 8 + 8 + 5 =100 👌

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@MastersOfNaming @etfelicitofill ..ake 🤭

[Henry Winter @henrywinter]

8 of the 16 players Barcelona used last night were nurtured fully, or partly, by the club. That breeds togetherness and identity. Whether for reasons of financial necessity or club culture, more English clubs need to re-assess the balance between recruitment and development. 1/2

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@Ice_smg Sobretot tenint en compte que està al costat de MARtorell 😂

[Pain.𝕏 @GBarca_]

He really gave us a generational reaction video to use for years 😭😭

[Francesc Sabater ||★|| @Sesksamar7]

En aquest país de covards va en @carlesrebassa i ens diu:
“Hem de tenir una legislació que faci que el català sigui imprescindible per a viure als Països Catalans. I això els virreis i els titelles que ens governen no ho faran possible mai”.

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@sidlowe It’s all about narrative, isn’t it?
Every right to go down vs you need to be stronger 🤭

[Dani Sanchez-Crespo @DaniNovarama]

Hahaha

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@DaniNovarama 🤣🤣 brutal

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@lluiv_ @josepcosta Així com a Catalunya

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@lluiv_ @josepcosta Llavors si poden votar son anglesos.

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@lluiv_ @josepcosta Però a Anglaterra no voten els anglesos a les eleccions?

[Joaquim Cols Sabata @QuimCols]

@sidlowe Negreira