As of the writing of this chapter, Catalonia remains a relatively autonomous region (and nation-state) of Spain located in the northeastern reaches of the Iberian Peninsula, bordering France. Its landmass is larger than Belgium, and its population exceeds that of Denmark. Politically, Catalonia is one of 17 cultural communities in Spain that enjoys a measure of autonomy and power that, while “far inferior” to the member states of federated republics such as the United States and Germany, provides it with a measure of cultural and collective recognition that sets it apart from other sub-states and/or national minorities (Balcells, 1996, p. 1). Despite its size and place in the world, Catalonia remains a relatively unknown commodity to the English-speaking parts of the world. In fact, Catalonia is often confused with another autonomous region of Spain: the Basque Country. The reason for this ignorance of Catalonia is largely political in nature. Up until recent history, Catalonia was not recognized as a political entity in Spain, and its culture was subjected to systematic elimination (McRoberts, 2001). For its part, Spain has historically been regarded as having “a problematic political structure needing […] radical reforms” (Solís, 2003, p. 4). This political structure has, at various points, been the sources of much conflict, leading regions such as Catalonia and the Basque Country to question “the centralized power of the state” at various points in time (Oskam, 2014, p. 51). Despite this problematic structure—and despite the adversity Catalonia has faced throughout the centuries—not only has Catalonia (and its culture) endured, but it has become an “integral part” of Spain, serving as one of the country’s major international trading centers and as a dominant political and economic hub in the Western Mediterranean (McRoberts, 2001, p. 1). For many, the belief has been that so long as Spain remains “constituted as a multi-lingual and multi-cultural space,” Catalonia will remain a part of it (Solís, 2003, p. 4).

However, in recent years, the political structure of Spain has, once again, become a source of contention in Catalonia—enough so that the Catalan people have expressed a “sharp drop in satisfaction” with respect to the level of autonomy they are provided within the Spanish framework, with polls suggesting that many have “given up on the idea of reforming Spain” as a means of “achieving what they consider to be an acceptable fit for Catalonia within the framework of the Spanish State” (Bel, 2015, p. 1). Having been denied the formal option of a referendum by the Spanish prime minister, the people of Catalonia took their discontent to the polls with an unsanctioned vote on independence on November 9, 2014. While the vote lacked any sort of legal effect, it did serve to gage the degree to which Catalans had an appetite for constitutional change (López, 2015). This demonstration was followed up with a highly controversial independence referendum on October 1, 2017, initiated by the Catalan government. While more than 90 percent of voters voted in favor of Catalonia’s independence—albeit only 43 percent of the population actually voted—the referendum was declared illegal by the Spanish government (BBC, 2017a). Following the referendum, the Catalan parliament voted in favor of declaring independence from Spain—an act that led to its dissolution at the hands of the Spanish Senate and a number of its key members to be charged with rebellion by Spain’s chief prosecutor. Moreover, Catalonia was placed under the direct rule of the Spanish government until a general election could be held on December 21, 2017 (BBC, 2017b)—the results of which saw three separatist parties narrowly win the majority of the ridings (Dewan, 2017). The consequences of these events, at the time of this writing, remain to be seen. While, historically, Catalans have had a “strong movement for self-determination and autonomy,” recent aspirations to these ends have largely been spurred both by the central government’s “hostile attitude” toward Catalan autonomy and by the economic uncertainty that came with the financial crisis of the late 2000s (Oskam, 2014, pp. 51–52).

With this in mind, this chapter—like its predecessors—explores the nature of the Catalan cultural identity through an analysis of its history and cultural policy. Emphasis is placed on policies that were introduced in the last quarter of the twentieth century-onward, following the end of the Franco dictatorship in Spain—a dictatorship that was particularly challenging for Catalan culture, in no small part because it sought to eradicate it. While Catalonia is not the only self-identifying nation within Spain, and certainly not the only one to have gained any measure of autonomy—the Basque Country and Galicia, for instance, have also obtained similar provisions—Catalonia is, by far, the largest and, along with the Basque Country, the most recognizable of Spain’s nationalities. Moreover, given that, between 1980 and 2003, the same coalition and leader remained in power in Catalonia, the Catalans offers a relatively unique case of a democratic region whose cultural policies had the opportunity to develop and evolve over a long period of time under the same regime (McRoberts, 2001). For their part, Catalonia’s cultural policies have evolved in a high-profile and relatively transparent fashion, largely in response to desires to (a) see Catalan culture regain a place of prominence in the sub-state following the Franco regime, (b) differentiate the Catalan culture and identity from those of Spain, and (c) have Catalan culture prominently featured in Catalonian political discourse as a means of acknowledging its importance to the Catalan peoples’ sense of identity (Crameri, 2008).

6.1 Culture Clash: The History of Catalonian Nationalism

Much of the contemporary academic (and, for that matter, political) discourse surrounding Catalonia’s national identity is framed around the Spanish Civil War (1938–1939) and the subsequent Francisco Franco dictatorship of Spain (1939–1975). The emphasis on this period, in large part, can be accounted for by “the exclusionary nationalist discourse of the [Franco] dictatorship”—a discourse which sought to develop a “unified, homogenous” Spain through the suppression of regional sentiment and nationalism (i.e. Basque, Galician, and Catalan) (Townson, 2012, p. vi). As such, since the collapse of the Franco dictatorship, nationalist discourse pertaining to (and emerging from) the regions of Spain has largely been focused on the reclamation, legitimation, promotion, and defense of national identities that were put at risk—and the subsequent developments that have challenged the hegemony of the current, democratic Spanish state. Among the most salient of these developments was Catalonia’s acquisition of the status of autonomous community in 1980, which has since been accentuated by a growing independence movement within the region (Crameri, 2011).

Under Franco’s leadership, Spain went from being “an essentially agricultural country with limited nationwide communications and a degree of illiteracy beyond European parameters” to “an emergent mass culture and consumer society of predominantly middle-class citizens” (Palacio, 2005, p. 599). Franco also consolidated efforts toward purging academic and cultural institutions throughout all of Spain—not just Catalonia and the Basque Country. The result of this purge saw many of the country’s scientists and artists flee in exile. Policies and institutions introduced by the Franco regime—such as the Press Act of 1938, the Radio Nacional in 1937, and the Televisión Española in 1956—served the dual purpose of controlling and censoring cultural and media output. These policies tended to favor traditional styles of art while promoting Spanish nationalism and Catholicism in equal measures—and primarily at the expense of longstanding nationalisms such as Catalonia’s. Moreover, the Franco regime employed “evasion culture” as a means of fostering social integration and maintaining a level of “political unawareness” within its population (Elcano Royal Institute, 2004, p. 4). In this respect, Spain became perhaps the “first dictatorship in the world where its citizens’ lack of freedom ran parallel to the initial creation of a mass-consumer society” (Palacio, 2005, p. 599).

Despite the Franco regime’s best efforts to control culture within Spain and eliminate the cultural identities of its various regions/nations, these cultural identities have not only survived, they have grown and evolved to a point where they have had significant impact on evoking change in Spanish society (McRoberts, 2001). For instance, Catalonia’s cultural nationalism is largely attributed to having helped the Catalans resist the totalitarian tendencies of the Spanish nationalism espoused by Franco (Crameri, 2008). Moreover, in an ironic twist, cultural repression served to strengthen the Catalan identity and unite otherwise disparate regimes within Catalan society into a unified front. With that being said, cultural repression was, obviously, not without its negative effects: an entire generation of Catalans grew up only able to speak their language in the privacy of their homes and unable to read or write the language. Additionally, Spain’s economic expansion under the Franco regime led to significant immigration within the country and its regions—the result of which was that, by the 1960s, as much as 40 percent of Catalonia’s population had been born outside of Catalonia, bringing with them a level of cultural, linguistic, and socio-economic dilution that, if nothing else, served as a challenge to Catalonia’s nationalist movement (Keating, 2001). By the time the Franco regime finally came to an end, there was still a “general sense of Catalanism,” albeit one that was perhaps best described as “non-specific, but very heartfelt” (Crameri, 2014, p. 5).

6.1.1 Democracy for All, Autonomy for Some: The Spanish Constitution Act (1978)

In the years immediately following the end of the Franco dictatorship, the Catalans were among the leading cultural groups advocating for democracy in Spain and independence for themselves and other nationalities (McRoberts, 2001; Stepan, 1998). The fact that Catalonia had largely stood pat and remained opposed to the Franco regime’s efforts to eliminate their culture had not gone unnoticed by the rest of Spain—nor did the fact that the Catalans had mobilized in mass following his death to demonstrate their resolve in acquiring a new Catalan administration with autonomous powers vis-à-vis the rest of Spain (Balcells, 1996). The Assembly of Catalonia, founded in 1971 and whose membership consisted of a wide range of representatives from Catalonia’s political, social, and professional sectors, strongly voiced the need for “democracy, left-wing policies and autonomy”; its mobilizing actions would prove instrumental in ushering in Spain’s “first democratic parliamentary election” in 1977 (Guibernau, 2014, p. 11). For its part, Spain’s government—which had been appointed in 1976 by Spain’s monarch, King Juan Carlos, for the explicit purpose of transitioning the country into a democracy and which would later be democratically elected in the 1977 election—under the leadership of Adolfo Suárez, was more than willing to accommodate the Catalan movement’s democratic ambitions, even going so far as to help reestablish Catalonia’s government (Generalitat)—which had been abolished in the 1930s when Franco came to power (Keating, 2001). For its part, Catalonia’s first elected Generalitat, under the Convergència i Unió (the Convergence and Union) coalition party—a coalition between two moderately nationalist parties—remained in power from 1980 until 2003 (Planas, 2010).

The next step in Spain’s transition to democracy came with the introduction of its constitution in 1978—a document that came into being through a consensus reached by all of the political parties involved in the election of 1977 (Guibernau, 2014). Unlike in the case of Spain’s previous constitutions—which had all been written by the victors of civil conflicts and, consequently, were seen as illegitimate to the losers of those conflicts—the new government wanted all parties, even opponents, to take part in the drafting of the new constitution as a means of ensuring virtually every social interest had a say in the matter (Greer, 2007). The Spanish Constitution Act 1978 acknowledged the importance of its nations and their cultural diversity for the unity of Spain, recognizing and guaranteeing “the right to self-government of the nationalities and regions of which it is composed and the solidarity among them all” (Spanish Constitution Act, 1978, article 2). To this end, the Constitution Act establishes that Spain was to be organized “territorially into municipalities, provinces, and the Self-governing Communities that may be constituted” (article 137). Self-governing Communities were broadly defined as “bordering provinces with common historic cultural and economic characteristics, insular territories and provinces with a historic regional status” (article 143). Any other community wishing to acquire powers of self-government were required to go through an application process that involved acquiring the consent of “all the Provincial Councils concerned […] and two thirds of the municipalities whose population represents at least the majority of the electorate of each province or island” within six months of submitting an application; failure to do so would require the community to wait five years before being allowed to reapply (article 143). This latter clause was introduced as a sort of compromise to concerns expressed by existing regions—such as Catalonia, the Basque Country, and Galicia—who thought it somewhat insulting, not to mention politically dangerous, to place other, smaller communities on an equal level with them. Similarly, the military also expressed concerns that the recognition of too many cultural and national communities could compromise the safety of Spain. Consequently, the Spanish government was somewhat less giving in their approach to autonomy and the devolution of powers than what had originally been intended (Greer, 2007).

The Self-governing Communities were granted competences over 22 matters as they specifically related to their region, including (but not exclusive to) the organization of their self-government institutions; municipal boundaries and town planning; public works, transportation, agriculture, forestry, and environmental protection; hunting and fishing industries; the promotion of economic development within the broader context of national economic policy; manual skills development; health and hygiene; social assistance; and the coordination of local police forces (Spanish Constitution Act, 1978, article 148). The Self-governing Communities were also provided a broad purview of cultural functions: the facilitation of local fairs; the conservation of museums, libraries, and music; preservation of monuments; the promotion of culture and research and the teaching of language; and the promotion of tourism, sports, and leisure (article 148). By contrast, the State reserved exclusive rights to 33 matters it felt were beyond the purview of its Self-governing Communities—including, but not limited to, ensuring the basic conditions for guaranteeing the equality and rights of all Spaniards; nationality and matters related to immigration and emigration; defense and armed forces; legislation as it relates to commerce, crime, penitentiaries, labor, civic law, copyright, industrial property, and customs; and the country’s monetary system (article 149). Built into the constitution was a clause to allow for the devolution of (some of) these powers and responsibilities to the Self-governing Communities following a five-year probationary period (article 148).

To ensure these human rights were respected, and “without prejudice to the competences that may be assumed by the Self-governing Communities,” the Spanish government took as its responsibility the promotion of culture—something it considered not only a duty but “an essential function” (Spanish Constitution Act, 1978, article 149). With this in mind, the State indicates that it would be responsible for the facilitation of cultural communication—both among and in cooperation with the Self-governing Communities (article 149). Additionally, the State reserved the right to protect Spain’s “cultural and artistic heritage and national monuments against exportation and spoliation” (article 149). This right included protection of “museums, libraries, and archives belonging to the State” (article 149). To this end, the State guaranteed the preservation and promotion of the “historical, cultural, and artistic heritage of the people of Spain and the property of which it consists,” regardless of the legal status or ownership of said property, and with the caveat that “any offences against this heritage” would be criminally punished (article 46).

Where Catalonia is concerned, perhaps the most important cultural aspect that the Spanish Constitution Act 1978 recognizes and addresses is language. In section three of the Act, Castilian is recognized as the official Spanish language of the State (Spanish Constitution Act, 1978, article 3). Additionally, the constitution recognizes other Spanish languages as being official within the boundaries of their respective Self-governing Communities and in accordance with their Statutes of Autonomy. In view of preserving the linguistic “richness” and “heritage” of Spain’s various communities, these languages were “accorded special respect and protection” (article 3). For Catalonia, this meant that the Catalan language was, at least within Catalonia, constitutionally recognized and protected. Despite this special respect, many commentators have critiqued the constitution’s vagueness on the issue of language protection—going so far as to suggest that “special respect” is practically meaningless, particularly when other elements of the constitution already afford Self-governing Communities measures to protect their languages without the need for further state intervention (Crameri, 2008, pp. 50–51). Moreover, while the constitution offers special respect and protection to the languages of its cultural communities, it does not specifically reference or identify any of those languages; it was effectively left to the discretion of the Self-governing Communities to officially recognize their own languages. In this respect, the constitutional rights afforded to the various languages by the Spanish government were largely seen as symbolic—rather than meaningful—gestures.

Given the approach the previous governmental regime took to eradicating the national cultures of Spain’s various regions and peoples, it is probably fair to assume that the emphasis placed on preserving culture in the Constitution Act 1978 was meant to serve as a form of assurance that the democratically elected government had no intentions of repeating the past. In fact, the Act has been noted for its implicit questioning of “the radically conservative and centralist character of the brand of Spanish nationalism promoted by the Franco regime” (Guibernau, 2014, p. 12). In this respect, the Constitution Act 1978 establishes a state of worth for and natural relations between the Spanish government and its cultural communities: it provides an extension of civic rights to cultural communities, as they relate to culture, that were largely perceived to be absent. Moreover, the Act also serves to establish a rapport of grandeur insofar as it makes issues of culture and cultural identity—issues that had long been a source of conflict within Spain—a public/constitutional matter. As such, when issues of culture emerge in Spain, they are invariably constitutional issues that necessarily require public discourse and intervention. Moreover, the Act provides an operationalization of relations between cultures by offering incentives to virtually every facet of Spanish society as a means of developing a rapport between the Spanish government and its cultural communities that had previously been lacking.

6.2 Autonomously Yours: Statute of Autonomy (1979)

Overall, the Spanish Constitution Act 1978 served as a mechanism to decentralize and devolve many of the country’s governmental responsibilities to its cultural and national communities. Broadly, it served the dual purpose of recognizing and preserving those same cultures—a luxury that had not previously been afforded to them in any great measure. While the Constitution Act places a strong emphasis on promoting and protecting the culture and nationalisms of the country’s Self-governing Communities and regions, there is a questionable absence of precision or, for that matter, explicit reference, by name, to any specific community or region. Moreover, while Catalonia, the Basque Country, and Galicia were all conferred immediate and full autonomy through the Constitution Act, other communities were not so lucky—with many of them having to “undergo a 5-year period of ‘restricted autonomy’” before being granted full autonomous provisions (Guibernau, 2014, p. 12). Problematic for some regions was the fact that once a new and/or artificially created community was granted self-governing autonomy, the constitution makes no effort to distinguish them from pre-existing communities with long histories and strong senses of cultural identity. Moreover, while the constitution offered much in the way of devolved autonomy—from a top-down perspective—it did not offer Self-governing Communities much input in state politics; it was, as some commentators have put it, “minimally demos-constraining” insofar as it allowed communities only a minimal measure of power “to restrain the central government” (Greer, 2007, pp. 109–110).

To address some of the Constitution Act’s oversights and provide more nuance to various elements of the Self-governing Communities’ autonomy—albeit largely within the (admittedly vague) structure and confines established by the Constitution Act—the communities, themselves, developed Statutes of Autonomy (Crameri, 2008). In some cases, the Statutes also served as corrective measures for the constitution: in the case of Catalonia, for instance, its statute, among other things, officially recognizes the Catalan language as its official language (Strubell, 1999), establishing a firm superior common principle where Catalan culture and identity are concerned. The Catalonian Statute of Autonomy was almost unanimously approved through a referendum by the Catalan people in 1979, with more than 88 percent of voters voting in favor of the Statute—though with a “disappointing” turnout of only 59.6 percent of the population (Balcells, 1996, p. 174)—and subsequently ratified by the Spanish Senate and King, making it the first Statute of Autonomy to become law in Spain (McRoberts, 2001).

From legal and cultural perspectives, the Statute of Autonomy offers more precision with respect to Catalonia’s autonomous powers and national identity than does the Constitution. In its preamble, the Statute indicates that its development represents “part of the process of recovering [Catalonia’s] democratic freedom”—a process that also involved recovering Catalonia’s self-government institutions (Catalonian Generalitat, 1979, p. 1). Using the rights conferred to it through the Constitution and “guaranteed to the nationalities and regions making up Spain,” the Statute declares Catalonia’s “wish to be constituted as autonomous community” and serves as an “expression of the collective identity of Catalonia” (p. 1). In its first few articles, Catalonia’s Statute of Autonomy wastes little time in constituting the Generalitat as the institution “into which Catalan self-government is politically organized,” and identifying Catalan—along with Spanish, by virtue of the Spanish Constitution—as the official language of Catalonia (articles 1–3). To this end, the Statute indicates the government’s intentions to ensure the use of both languages in both “normal and official” settings. To do so, the government would take necessary measures to provide citizens with sufficient knowledge of both languages and ensure that each language was treated equally. Additionally, the Aranese language, while not officially recognized, would be “taught” and treated with a “particular respect and protection” (article 3). In this way, the Statute effectively served as a renegotiation of the rapport of grandeur between the Catalan and Spanish cultures and languages, wherein both were recognized as official, but where Catalan was preferred in the context of Catalonia.

Whether it was intentional or not, the Catalonian Statute of Autonomy serves as an affirmation of the natural relations between Catalonia and Spain: it is an acquiescence to the guidelines and power dynamics established by the Spanish government in the Constitution. In this respect, the Statute proved somewhat divisive for the Catalonian people: while Catalan socialists were “unqualified in their satisfaction” with the Statute, Catalan nationalists were more nuanced in their appraisal—noting that it was not the Statute they “would have drawn up, but it is a good statute” all the same (McRoberts, 2001, p. 59). Ultimately, however, when compared to the repressive policies of the Franco regime, the Statute (and Constitution) was predominantly heralded as a significant reversal of fortunes for the Catalan people. As such, even with reservations regarding the ambiguous terms and major contradictions found in the Constitution and Statute of Autonomy, Catalonians were almost unanimously supportive of these documents as they granted Catalonia measures of autonomy and cultural protection that would have been unheard of when Spain was still a dictatorship.

6.2.1 Spurring National Discourse: An Updated Statute of Autonomy (2006)

It is worth noting, albeit briefly, that the Catalan Generalitat sought to ratify a new Statute of Autonomy in 2006. Where the updated Statute differs most significantly from its previous iteration is in its re-contextualization of the relationship between Catalonia and Spain. While in the original Statute emphasis was placed on recognizing Catalonia as an autonomous community (Catalonian Generalitat, 1979, article 2), in the updated version a stronger emphasis is placed on the Generalitat as the “institutional system” in which Catalonia’s government is organized and able to self-govern its people (Catalonian Generalitat, 2006, article 2) and recognizing the people of Catalonia as a nation replete with national symbols—including its flag, holiday, and anthem (article 8). The Generalitat’s relationship to the Spanish government is defined in the updated Statute as being one based on a “mutual institutional loyalty” regulated by “the general principle according to which the Generalitat is State, by the principle of autonomy, by that of bilateralism and by that of multilateralism” (article 3). Moreover, the Statute recognizes the historical and cultural precedence of Catalonia’s right to self-govern, noting that the Generalitat, itself, is “unique” in its application (and preservation of) civil law, language, culture, education, and the institutional system in which it resides (article 5).

Immediately following the ratification of the updated Statute, the Spanish High Court of Justice challenged the Statute on the grounds of not being constitutionally compliant. Catalonians were outraged that a Statute, which had gone through the proper legal channels as outlined in the Spanish Constitution, was being challenged in such a deliberate fashion (Guibernau, 2014). Following four years of deliberation, the Spanish High Court finally ruled to repeal or amend a number of points from the Statute, many of which specifically related to Catalan culture and nationalism: while the High Court accepted the use of the term “nation” in describing Catalonia, the term’s use in relation to Catalonia has no legal value in Spain insofar as it could be construed as politically confusing:

It cannot be concealed that the use of such conceptually compromised terms as those of Nation and People or the reference to historical rights in the context of the invocation of foundations on which to establish the Legal System as a whole or some of its sectors may give rise to ambiguities and controversies in the political sphere. (Spanish High Court of Justice, 2010, par. 30)

Similar reservations were made with respect to Catalonia’s use of the terms “national symbols,” for which the High Court felt that such appellation could be confusing vis-à-vis Spain’s national symbols. Moreover, it was found that the Generalitat’s preferential treatment of the Catalan language—particularly in its application in public administration—was unconstitutional, while the “duty to be competent in Catalan in Catalonia” should not be equivocated in any legal respect to citizens’ responsibilities to be competent in Castilian (Guibernau, 2014, p. 16).

While the Catalan peoples’ initial reception of the new Statute of Autonomy proved underwhelming and apathetic—to say the least—the same cannot be said for the High Court’s ruling. Within six months of the ruling, Catalonian civil society had successfully led demonstrations advocating for Catalonian nationalism; within a year, when polled, almost 43 percent of the Catalan people had indicated they would vote “yes” in a referendum on independence (Guibernau, 2014, p. 18). More recent polls indicate that more than 72 percent of Catalans feel “frustrated” with Catalonia’s current level of autonomy and would like to see it obtain more (p. 18). Simply put, it would be an understatement to say that the High Court’s decision was anything but a “pivotal moment in the recent growth in support for independence” in Catalonia (Crameri, 2014, p. 37).

6.3 Reconstructing a Culture: Catalan Cultural Policies of the 1980s and 1990s

The years that followed the ratification of the Constitution Act and the Catalonian Statute of Autonomy were notable for being a period of “freedom of expression and artistic creation, public activity in the artistic and cultural fields, and full recognition of Spain’s linguistic and cultural diversity” (Planas, 2010, pp. 9–10). These years proved to be particularly complex for Catalonian cultural policy: while questions of culture and language were “key factors” in discussions related to (re)constructing the Catalan nation, the Generalitat now had to account for the “demands and needs of a much more heterogeneous population” than it had before the Franco era (p. 10). Facilitating this process—though only to a small degree, initially—was the introduction of the Catalan Department of Culture (Departament de Cultura), established following the creation of the Generalitat. While the Department’s introduction was meant to address and alleviate many of Catalonia’s cultural responsibilities/concerns, as was the case with the Generalitat, itself, the Department was still in its infancy in the early 1980s, and its abilities to address cultural needs were largely stunted by the central government’s slowness in transferring funding and responsibilities to them (Crameri, 2008).

Complicating matters for the Department of Culture was the fact that, over the course of the previous 40 years, Castilian had become the most prominently used language in Catalonia—surpassing Catalan as the language of choice of Catalonia’s citizens (Planas, 2010). Simply put, the damage that had been inflicted on the Catalan culture throughout the Franco reign had left its mark on the nation. By the time Catalonia was ready and able to rebuild its culture, it was arguably starting behind the proverbial eight ball, with many of its people—as mentioned—having grown up with a relatively limited and somewhat secretive practice of their cultural heritage and language (Crameri, 2008). It was, therefore, with cultural restoration in mind that many of Catalonia’s cultural policies evolved throughout the 1980s and 1990s—with language, in particular, taking a prominent role in its restoration process. In fact, few policies have had as significant an impact on Catalonia’s politics, society, and culture as have its language policies (Catalonian Generalitat, 2014). It is with language in mind that the Department of Culture arguably had its most significant contribution of the 1980s to Catalan culture via the creation of a Linguistic Normalization Act—though a contribution that took the notion of “culture as identity” and flipped it on its head to support only elements of culture that best support the Catalonian cultural identity (Crameri, 2008).

6.3.1 Linguistic Normalization Act of 1983 and Language Act of 1998

Although language has been a staple of many cultures’ claims to nationhood, it has arguably been more credible in the case of Catalonia than it has for others. While regions such as Scotland and Wales may lay claims to a linguistic distinction to their nationalism, these claims are largely mitigated by the fact that their respective languages have all but disappeared; even with efforts to revive their languages, claims to their cultural importance are seen as tenuous at best (McRoberts, 2001). In the case of Catalonia, however, the language has not only remained relevant in Catalan society, but is sufficiently similar to Spain’s official language—Castilian—that it is easily picked up by nonnative Catalans. Thus, it has been somewhat easier for Catalonia to preserve and restore its language relative to other sub-states in similar situations. Nevertheless, a desire to ensure the preservation and promotion of the Catalan language has figured prominently in Catalonia’s cultural policies—and nationalist discourse—since Spanish democratization, to the point of becoming a superior common principle in Catalonia’s cultural policy discourse. In fact, once it was reinstated, the Generalitat’s first order of business was to remedy the damage inflicted on Catalan culture and nationalism over the course of the previous 40 years. The challenge, however, was to undo the assimilation of the Catalan culture and language without encroaching on the linguistic rights of those who speak Castilian (Catalonian Generalitat, 2014)—a prospect that, at times, has been easier said than done.

Initially, many of Catalonia’s nationalists sought to have the Catalan language recognized as the sole official language of Catalonia in order to redress the inferior status that the Catalan language had been conscribed. This became a prominent topic of debate during the development of the Statute of Autonomy—though the Constitution made the prospect of Catalan being the only official language in Catalonia a relative impossibility (McRoberts, 2001). Moreover, the social changes incurred as a result of demographic shifts in Catalonia during the Franco regime also made it virtually impossible for the Generalitat to simply restore Catalan language rights, provide people with opportunities to speak it, and then expect them to actually take advantage of those opportunities; some form of incentive (or coercion) would need to be introduced to encourage both native Catalans and the large segment of the population who neither spoke Catalan nor had any heritage connections to the culture to take interest in and learn the language (Crameri, 2008). As such, even if the Catalan language was recognized, along with Castilian, as an official language of Catalonia, there was no guarantee that the citizens of Catalonia would even speak the language when given the choice. Consequently, actions were put in place by the Generalitat—including the introduction of a directorate for language policy—to encourage the use of Catalan in schools and in public sector organizations—notably in the form of the Linguistic Normalization Act.

The Linguistic Normalization Act came into force in 1983 as a means of supporting and encouraging the use of the Catalan language in official, educational, and social communications. Within the Act, education, public administration, and mass media are identified as “pillars” of Catalonian language policy—pillars that remain significant to this day (Catalonian Generalitat, 2014, p. 7). Through the targeting of these pillars, the Act sought to increase knowledge and normalize the use of Catalan within Catalonia by making it a more prominent fixture of official channels and communications (McRoberts, 2001). While the Act was largely built on the premise of Catalan and Castilian bilingualism—in no small part because bilingualism in Self-governing Communities was mandated by the Spanish Constitution—it privileged the Catalan language as the nation’s language of choice. In particular, the Act recognized Catalan as “Catalonia’s own language” and, as such, the language of the Catalonian Generalitat, Catalonia’s local and territorial administrations, and Catalonia’s public corporations (Catalonian Generalitat, 1983, article 5.1, as ctd. by Crameri, 2008, p. 52). Moreover, as the language of the Generalitat, Catalan also, by default, became the language of education and of public media (articles 14.1 & 21). In this respect, the “main thrust” of the Act was to provide the Catalan language with the necessary measures to become the “dominant language in certain institutional settings” (Crameri, 2008, p. 52)—even though the Act is careful not to prioritize Catalan too much in the context of official settings (Catalonian Generalitat, 2014).

Compared to similar language acts introduced by other sub-states—such as Bill 101 in Québec—the Linguistic Normalization Act was seen as relatively tame and innocuous, a by-product of abiding by the Constitution’s decree that Castilian is Spain’s official language (McRoberts, 2001). But more than just constitutional constraints, the Generalitat had to tread lightly when developing the Act for two reasons: the first was to “avoid creating popular enmity” that could compromise the “Catalanist consensus”; the second was to avoid offending Catalonia’s elites by imposing language laws on their organizations without their consent (Greer, 2007, p. 175). As such, while the Catalan language was favored by the Generalitat, Castilian remained prominent enough for Catalonia to, for all intents and purposes, became a bilingual nation. In other words, far from simply establishing the Catalan language as a common principle, the Normalization Act also emphasized a rapport of grandeur that would see the language placed on an equal footing with that of its Spanish counterpart—and, in some cases (i.e. in government operations), prioritized over it. In doing so, the Generalitat arguably sent a message to its people and to the Spanish government: while it was more than willing to abide the rules established by the Constitution, it would still push the boundaries of what was acceptable promotion of the Catalan language—though, to some Catalans, this was still not enough.

Overall, linguistic normalization proved to be a “qualified” success: it raised the profile of the Catalan language while respecting Castilian as an official language (Greer, 2007, p. 176). By the 1990s, thanks in no small part to the Normalization Act, the Catalan language had not only regained much of the prominence it had experienced prior to the Franco regime, it had even overtaken Castilian in many circles of Catalonian society. Seeing this as a positive sign, and not wanting to merely rest on its laurels, the Generalitat began pursuing more comprehensive language laws as a means of furthering the progress and promotion of the Catalan language in Catalonia. To this end, the Catalan Language Act of 1998 was introduced to replace the Linguistic Normalization Act (Catalonian Generalitat, 1998)—though its implementation was not without its share of controversy and conflicts. Some factions in Catalan and Spanish society had felt that the achievement of “normality” for the Catalan language was as far as the Generalitat’s linguistic responsibilities should extend; other factions welcomed a new language act as they felt the previous one did not go far enough in supporting and promoting the Catalan language (Crameri, 2008). Despite these polarized views, the Language Act was introduced in 1998, laying out the foundations for a clearer definition of Catalonia’s language law, with better policy instruments to enforce it (Catalonian Generalitat, 2014).

At its onset, the Catalan Language Act reaffirms the importance of the Catalan language in the “national formation and character” of Catalonia: the language serves as a “basic instrument for communication, integration, and social cohesion” and is a “privileged link between Catalonia and the other Catalan-speaking areas” of the world (Catalonian Generalitat, 1998, p. 7). In large part, the Act serves as a corrective measure for addressing many of the legal, socio-economic, and technological changes that had taken place in Catalonia, Spain, and the rest of the world throughout the 1980s and 1990s—changes that fell beyond the purview of the Linguistic Normalization Act. Among those changes were the evolution of the telecommunications fields and the advent of new technologies, the growth of free trade in cultural and commercial fields, the increased proficiency of Catalans in the use of Catalan, and the emergence of legal precedencies and protections for minority cultures established by the European parliament and community. On top of recognizing the importance and place of the Catalan language to Catalonia’s culture and identity (articles 1–7), the Act reaffirms Catalan as the language of use by government officials, with Castilian being used only “on request” by citizens (article 9, p. 15)—taking its observance of Catalan over Castilian a step further than the Normalization Act. While the Generalitat still recognizes Castilian as an official language of Catalonia, there is a sense from the Language Act that this recognition was merely a formality. Educationally, Catalan is established as the “vehicle of teaching and learning in non-university education” (article 21, p. 20). Moreover, an oral and written knowledge of Catalan is established as being a requirement, along with Castilian, to graduate secondary school (article 21). In this respect, the Language Act serves to update Catalonia’s superior common (language) principle and renegotiates the natural relations between the region and the Spanish government through a reinterpretation of the rapport of grandeur that existed between the Catalan and Spanish cultures.

In terms of the media and cultural industries, the Language Act introduces provisions, similar to those found in Canadian content laws (e.g. CRTC, 2015), that require broadcasters of radio and television to allocate a percentage of their airtime to content produced by Catalonians and in the Catalan language: licensed television media broadcasters must “guarantee that at least fifty per cent of viewing time of all kinds of programmes produced by themselves and other tele-services are provided in the Catalan language” (Catalonian Generalitat, 1998, article 26, pp. 22–23), while radio broadcasting companies must “guarantee that music programmes have an adequate presence of songs produced by Catalan artists and at least twenty-five per cent are songs performed in the Catalan language or in Aranese” (article 26, p. 23). To ensure these quotas are met, the Generalitat indicates that it will “aid, encourage and promote” the production and dissemination of cultural industries’ products in Catalan—including literary and scientific output; books and magazines; films, music, sound recordings, and audiovisual material; live performance; and all other public cultural activities—through the application of “objective criteria, without discrimination and within […] budgetary provisions” (article 28, pp. 23–24). In this respect, the Language Act establishes a state of worth for the Catalan language and presents artists who produce and perform in the language as harmonious figures.

6.3.2 The Catalan Radio and Television Corporation and the 2005 Audiovisuals Act

As Catalonia was solidifying its language through the Normalization Act—and later, the Language Act—it was also addressing its cultural production by way of the multimedia sector. The Catalan Radio and Television Corporation—or, as it is known in Catalan, Corporació Catalana de Mitjans Audiovisuals (CCMA)—was first introduced in 1983, primarily as a means of ensuring linguistic and cultural normalization in Catalonia’s audiovisual sector (CCMA, 2016). The CCMA operates as an arm’s-length public organization, responsible to the Generalitat, but with the autonomy to function in a similar capacity to private sector organizations. The CCMA’s mandate has largely been to ensure the free access and dissemination of audiovisual content in the Catalan language. To this end, the CCMA is also responsible for funding (and monitoring) the development and production of Catalan-language film, television, and animated programs (Catalonian Generalitat, 2007). In other words, similar to the CBC in Canada or the BBC in the United Kingdom, CCMA operates as a crown corporation responsible for providing citizens with access to Catalan content—in the Catalan language—that might otherwise be inaccessible or unavailable. In this respect, the CCMA serves to ensure that there are no gaps in the Catalan audiovisual content accessible to citizens.

Complementing the CCMA are Catalan film and TV (CF&TV) and the Catalan Audiovisual Council (CAC). The former, introduced in 1986, serves as a vehicle for showcasing Catalan audiovisual culture on an international stage; its mandate has largely been to promote Catalan film and television at international festivals and events (CF&TV, 2016a). The latter was introduced by the Generalitat in 1996 as a regulatory agency responsible for ensuring that Catalonian content is presented on Catalan airwaves. More specifically, functioning as an advisory body to the Generalitat “and as an agency guaranteeing the impartiality and transparency of Audiovisual broadcasting,” the CAC was introduced with the vision that it would become a “prestigious, publicly-recognized body endowing Catalan society with the means to make radio and television true sources of information, education, and entertainment suited to its needs” (CAC, 2000/2012, p. 1). To this end, the CAC serves to broadly regulate Catalonian content and impose penalties when audiovisual content providers and programmers—both in the public and private sectors—fail to observe and comply with the language regulations established in the Statute of Autonomy. Similarly, the CAC also ensures domestic compliance with European regulations and international treaties when it comes to content. In both cases, the CAC is given a relatively broad degree of discretion in terms of ensuring compliance to these laws and applying remedies for any broadcasting digressions (CAC, 2000/2012).

More recently, Catalonia introduced the Audiovisuals Act in 2005. This Act (2005) establishes that audiovisual producers and distributors operating in Catalonia should primarily offer products and services in Catalan. As with the Language Act, the Audiovisual Act establishes quotas for television providers with respect to the amount of Catalan (or Castilian) content they must broadcast: “service providers shall reserve at least 51% of their annual broadcasting time for European audiovisual products in any of the official languages of Catalonia, and at least 50% of these products shall be in Catalan” (p. 39). In addition to its language requirements, the Audiovisual Act also provides legislative recognition to private operators (and the private sector, more broadly) to broadcast freely outside of the purview of being a “licence-holder(s) for an activity owned by the state” (Bayona, 2007, p. 18). In other words, private operators are granted a greater measure of autonomy with respect to what they broadcast than they were in the past; they are no longer required to serve the purposes of the government. In this respect, the Act helps to circumvent the Spanish government’s somewhat monopolistic broadcasting licensing system. Moreover, the Act establishes protective measures and regulations to ensure the “veracity of information” delivered by audiovisual producers, the pluralism in audiovisual communication, and the rights of individuals and copyright holders (p. 18). To this end, the Act also establishes “a system of public intervention” that would help recognize and regulate the audiovisual sector (pp. 18–19)—a system in which the CAC (2016) both falls under and is regulated by (par. 1). This system effectively serves as a repertoire of devices to ensure that the superior common principle of Catalonia’s cultural policy is adhered to.

From an industrial perspective, if these policies demonstrate anything, it is that the audiovisual sectors are seen as important cultural industries in Catalonia and, more broadly, Spain. According to the Catalan Institute for the Cultural Industries (ICIC)—a government body introduced in 2001 as a purveyor of Catalonia’s cultural industries (Crameri, 2008)—Catalonia’s audiovisual sector has emerged, in recent years, as one of the most important sectors in all of Spain’s cultural industries, with Catalonia’s animation sector, in particular, emerging as a leader whose contributions have gained international recognition. This success has been taken as a sign that Catalonia’s audiovisual industries have potential to foster opportunities for “internationalization” and greater cultural penetration into foreign markets (ICIC, 2011, p. 3). In effect, the audiovisual sector has provided Catalonia with a test model for validating its cultural policy approach—and, to a certain degree, it has succeeded. Serving as evidence to this effect, in 2010 alone, the audiovisual and multimedia sectors accounted for 29 percent of Spain’s GDP as it relates to the cultural industries—second only to books and media in terms of overall GDP contribution. Given the audiovisual sectors’ importance to Catalonia’s economy, the ICIC’s approach to supporting the sector has been twofold: strengthen “the distribution sector based in Catalonia” and assist “the exhibition sector with technological modernization” (p. 10).

Overall, Catalonia’s approach to and emphasis on the audiovisual sector reflects recognition, by the Catalonian Generalitat, of its importance to the dissemination of culture and language. More importantly, however, the audiovisual sector has served as a space of resistance for the Generalitat vis-à-vis its Spanish counterparts. The fact that Catalonia introduced institutions such as the CCMA and CAC (and policies such as the Audiovisual Act) in spite of impediments imposed by the Spanish government suggests a willingness to challenge Spain’s authority in an overt fashion. Rather than simply acquiesce to the realities imposed by the state’s monopolistic hold over the audiovisual and broadcasting sectors, the Generalitat introduced policies that were arguably provocative in their unapologetic use and promotion of the Catalan language. These action serve as a form of implicit protest that is borne of and, arguably, underscores the cultural fears of the more nationalist-inclined Catalans: without some measure of market intervention and control, the Catalan people, if given the choice, would more readily choose to consume Spanish or foreign culture (i.e. English) than they would their own culture (Crameri, 2008). As such, inspiring the production and consumption of Catalan culture—in no small part through market interventions—ensures that Catalans, at the very least, have the option to consume Catalan-language culture at their leisure.

6.4 Culture and Autonomy: Catalonian Cultural Policy in Recent Years

If questions of (linguistic) identity and autonomy have been focal points of Catalonia’s cultural policy since the end of the Franco regime, this focus has certainly not come at the expense of economic opportunity. Similar to SODEC and Creative Scotland, Catalonia has introduced policies and programs aimed at both addressing its cultural needs while also promoting economic growth. Beginning toward the end of the 1990s, a growing concern in Catalonia was that the region was losing a considerable amount of its market share with respect to some of the newer cultural industries. While publishing remained a prominent contributor, there was a sense that more could be done to support newer cultural industries, such as the audiovisual and media sectors. Feelings were that, without proper government intervention, Catalonia’s cultural industries would fall too far behind competing markets to remain domestically and internationally competitive. Drawing on the experiences of those directly involved with the CCMA, the Generalitat set about establishing policies and programs that would address their concerns regarding cultural production (Crameri, 2008). Among the most prominent examples of policies and programs to emerge in response to these concerns include the introduction of the aforementioned Catalan Institute for the Cultural Companies (ICIC) in 2001—rebranded as the Catalan Institute of Cultural Enterprises (ICEC) in 2012 (ICIC, 2012); the Ramon Llull Institute (IRL) in 2002—whose remit has been to coordinate policies between Catalonia and other countries where Catalan is spoken as a means of promoting Catalan culture (CoNCA, 2015); and, more recently, the Catalan National Council for Culture and the Arts in 2008 (CoNCA)—whose mandate has been largely to serve as a non-partisan watchdog of the cultural sectors in Catalonia.

6.4.1 Catalan!Arts, Creative Catalan: The ICIC and Its Role in the Cultural Industries

In the case of the former, the ICIC—or ICEC—was introduced by the Generalitat as a means of promoting the production of Catalan culture via the cultural industries (Planas, 2010). The ICIC served as one of the Generalitat’s first forays into better understanding the state of its cultural industries and, beyond that, providing support to address their deficiencies and strengthen their causes. While the ICIC’s remit is broad insofar as it is responsible for virtually every facet of Catalonia’s cultural industries, its focus has primarily been on the audiovisual and broadcasting sectors (Crameri, 2008). This focus is relatively unsurprising given that the audiovisual sector has significantly grown in the years since ICIC’s inception, to the point where it has become Catalonia’s most important cultural industry in terms of gross added value (Planas, 2010). Responding directly to the Catalonian Department of Culture, the ICIC’s role in the promotion and production of cultural goods and services is seen as relatively unique as its primary focus deals with influencing and possibly even shaping the “conditions for cultural production”—a role which not only placed the Generalitat in a position to control the production of “popular creation,” but has seemingly ignored the other side of the industrial equation in the process: distribution (Crameri, 2008, p. 107). Rather, distribution has been largely left to the whims of the market—an approach many commentators have deemed questionable given the symbolic value of Catalonia’s need/desire to promote and protect its cultural identity and language.

With that said, recent developments would suggest that ICIC has begun to take a more level approach to the cultural industries—one centered on an investment formula that values cultural dissemination more prominently than in the past. In fact, ICIC’s rebranding to ICEC underscores a recognition that the cultural industries are evolving—in large part, because of technological advents, coupled with greater access to a wealth of new forms of culture as a result of globalization—which has necessitated the introduction of a new approach to the cultural industries. To address these changes, ICEC seeks to apply, as its name implies, a more entrepreneurial approach to Catalonia’s cultural production and consumption. This approach, ICEC contends, will help ensure that companies in the cultural industries are able to “look towards the future, promoting innovation and paving the way towards internationalisation, which is to become a strategic element for the competitiveness of cultural and creative enterprises in Catalonia” (ICIC, 2012, p. 3). In other words, much like Creative Scotland, ICEC endeavors to support Catalonia’s cultural industries in ways that will enable them to compete on an international level. To this end, ICEC identifies five strategic objectives that it seeks to address through its activities and funding:

(1) To promote cultural productions and contribute to the development of cultural enterprises; (2) To modernise and adapt Catalan cultural enterprises to new business models and Markets; (3) To provide Catalan cultural industries with more tools to cover their financial needs and improve competitiveness; (4) To promote Catalan cultural creations outside of Catalonia; (5) To preserve and disseminate our film heritage, ensuring its accessibility to the public. (ICIC, 2012, p. 5)

These objectives broadly serve as guiding posts for many of ICEC’s activities in the cultural industries—though it is fair to say that the first two objectives, notwithstanding ICEC’s evolving approach to the cultural industries, remain focal points of its remit.

It is interesting to note that ICEC’s budget largely favors the audiovisual industries over that of any other cultural industry sector—a fact that ICEC has historically been criticized for, including by other Catalonian cultural institutions (i.e. CoNCA, 2015). In 2011, ICEC allocated a significant portion of its €53 million budget to the audiovisual sector and subsectors—with close to €12 million (plus an additional €3.5 million in loans) going toward supporting and developing the audiovisual sector, with an additional €3.15 million going toward Catalonia’s film industry, €7.18 million to the music industry, and €0.43 to the video game industry. By comparison, performing and visual arts received roughly €7 million, and the book industry received €3.39 billion in support (ICIC, 2012). This breakdown suggests that, if nothing else, ICEC’s investment formula prioritizes certain forms of cultural production—namely, audiovisual and multimedia. Given the economic prominence of the audiovisual sector in Catalonia vis-à-vis other cultural industry sectors (ICIC, 2011), ICEC’s budgetary allocation suggests that, far from simply seeking to promote the production (and dissemination) of cultural products that represent Catalan culture and that are offered in the Catalan language, there is an inherent intent to profit—to obtain a return on value. Not only is this evidenced in the fact that €3.5 million of the funding ICEC allocates to the audiovisual sector comes in the form of loans, but it is also on display in its budgetary allocation to business development: €8.52 million in funding and €13.5 million in loans (ICIC, 2012). This funding scheme suggests that ICEC is strategically funding Catalonia’s cultural industries in ways that favor the stronger industries while also making a substantial amount of that funding contingent on some level of tangible or economic success. It stands to reason that the audiovisual industries, for instance, are more adept at recuperating and repaying the loans they receive from that government than might be the visual arts industries. As such, it is relatively safe to say that, by more prominently supporting industries that are “safe bets,” ICEC is assuring that it will receive a return on its investment. However, in doing so, the ICEC potentially creates a catch 22 for its weaker cultural industries: often these industries require government support just to survive, never mind profit; if the level of support offered by the ICEC is contingent on the profitability of an industry, then all any of the weaker industries can truly hope for is enough support to survive.

It is, thus, with many of its weaker industries in mind that ICEC created the Catalan Arts (though it was briefly labelled Creative Catalonia from 2015 to 2017) initiative in 2005. As part of its approach to promoting Catalonia’s culture, both within and without the region, ICEC introduced the Catalan Arts branding initiative with the goal of making Catalonia’s cultural companies more visible by unifying them under a singly brand/image (Planas, 2010). Similarly titled sub-brands—notably Catalan!Music, Catalan!Books, Catalan!Circus, Catalan!Dance, and Catalan!Theatre—were also created to target specific cultural industries and make them internationally visible (ICIC, 2011). Under the auspices of the Market Development Department, Catalan Arts endeavors to support “the production of professional projects and their promotion abroad” by both facilitating access to international markets—through its offices, strategically located throughout Europe—and strengthening the presence of Catalan companies at international fairs and events (ICEC, 2016, par. 2–3). Beyond this remit, Catalan Arts also provides market research and consultancy to projects dealing with cultural exportation and internationalization, nurtures “professional networking in Catalonia and abroad,” creates promotional and marketing tools, and provides support to Catalonia’s cultural industries to ensure their presence in international media. In this respect, Catalan Arts serves as a test model for promoting the Catalan culture internationally.

Conspicuous by its absence in Catalan Arts’s remit, however, is the audiovisual sector. This absence points to a recognition or acknowledgment that ICEC’s emphasis on the audiovisual industries—over that of other industries—has left a gap in its approach to other cultural sectors. While Catalan Arts addresses this gap, it also underscores the fact that the audiovisual industries, for all intents and purposes, are treated differently in Catalonia than the other cultural industries—they are conferred a state of worth beyond that of other cultural industries. This fact is accentuated by the existence of the aforementioned CF&TV, an organization whose role is relatively the same as Catalan Arts—albeit with a focus exclusively on the audiovisual industries (CF&TV, 2016b). This preferential treatment reflects a growing trend in global cultural production toward multimedia and digital commodities over more traditional forms of cultural production. More specifically, however, it is an approach that is reflective of the fact that, while Catalonia has identified and prioritized culture as playing “an increasingly strategic role in the territorial development that seeks to integrate [the] knowledge economy with social cohesion, governance, and sustainability,” its policies are not always able to “respond to the often irreconcilable dilemmas and expectations that this new world order presents” (Barbieri, 2012, p. 13). Rather than try to reconcile these dilemmas, ICEC has arguably taken a more pragmatic approach to culture: instead of “if you build it, they will come,” ICEC seems to have adopted the mantra, “if you build what they want, they will come.” With popular culture—increasingly coming in the form of audiovisual content—being a dominant force in contemporary cultural industries, the overall approach to ICEC suggests an acquiescence to the new world order; rather than fight the system it finds itself in, ICEC seems content to work within it to address Catalonia’s cultural needs.

If ICEC’s approaches to the cultural industries seems particularly targeted to the sectors that have been most profitable in recent decades, the reason has, undoubtedly, a lot to do with the overall funding and importance the Catalonian Generalitat has placed on culture in recent years. In its 2015 report, the Catalan National Council for Culture and the Arts (CoNCA) found that the “institutional importance” conferred to culture was on a steady decline (CoNCA, 2015, p. 7). Moreover, CoNCA found that decreases in cultural funding, coupled with “some measures taken in recent years,” had endangered “the continuity and survival” of a number of cultural projects in Catalonia (p. 7). Adding to these concerns, CoNCA found that the relative uncertainty plaguing “all economic sectors of society” has resulted in cultural consumption—of all forms of culture—becoming a luxury (p. 7). This was most notably the case with younger generations whose limited incomes posed an intermediate threat to the cultural system and its offerings—many of which had become inaccessible by virtue of being unaffordable. It is with this in mind that CoNCA identifies digital platforms as offering “a great opportunity to move toward greater democratization and universal access to culture” (p. 8). In other words, there is an inherent necessity in ICEC’s strategy to target audiovisual sectors—one that is borne of both economic and access considerations.

6.4.2 Beyond Industry: The Catalan National Council for Culture and the Arts (CoNCA)

For its part, CoNCA is a non-partisan governmental organization that was created in 2008 in response to demands made to the Generalitat, by the cultural sector, to “renew and expand” its cultural policies and support in favor of cultural creation (CoNCA, 2016a, par. 1). This was coupled with a growing concern that cultural policy—particularly as it related to dissemination (i.e. the ICIC)—was being used for political purposes rather than for the betterment of Catalan culture (CoNCA, 2009). At the time of its creation, CoNCA was notable for being “the first mixed cultural policy system in southern Europe,” combining both an arm’s-length administrative organization with a cultural department (Barbieri, 2012, p. 13). CoNCA emerged at a time when the Generalitat sought to “decentralise the creative and exhibition sectors” by means of developing a more regionalized cultural infrastructure in Catalonia (Planas, 2010, p. 11). To this end, CoNCA has sought to encourage universal access to culture by means of a “cross-cutting and inter-disciplinary perspective”—a superior common principle, if you will—that recognizes the diversity of Catalonia’s population (p. 5). Additionally, CoNCA (2016b) functions as an advisory agency to the Generalitat on issues relating to cultural policy as a matter of ensuring “support for artistic creation and its promotion, and to make its assessment” (par. 1). The aims of CoNCA are:

[T]o ensure the development of cultural activity, to assist in the management of cultural policy in terms of artistic creation, to participate in policies regarding support and promotion of artistic and cultural creation, and to organize a cultural audit system of public equipment and grants while taking into account the promotion of culture and social returns. (CoNCA, 2016b, par. 2)

In addition to these aims, CoNCA (2009) produces annual reports on the state of affairs of Catalan’s culture and cultural sector—including its regulations and regulatory bodies—plays a deciding role in determining the allocation of support to creators and organizations, and creates opportunity to collaborate with cultural organizations and institutions from other Catalan-speaking territories “with a shared culture” (p. 5). CoNCA’s operations are, thusly, divided into two streams: a commission for cultural strategies and a commission for supporting the arts.

If CoNCA’s aims seem to broadly overlap with those of ICEC, it is because CoNCA essentially reproduced the ICEC model of cultural policy (CoNCA, 2015). A similar argument can be made for its overlap with the IRL, for that matter—an organization whose underlying purpose, not unlike some of CoNCA’s aims, is to promote the use of the Catalan language abroad, through (1) the study of the language at academic institutions, (2) the translation of Catalan literature and thought, and (3) the dissemination of Catalan language and culture at international events (IRL, 2016). This reproduction of ICEC and IRL’s remits is, in large part, the result of what turned out to be a relatively tumultuous inception for CoNCA, marred by legislative delays that resulted in ICEC’s funding and responsibilities increasing at the expense of what CoNCA would have received had its remit been fully actualized. It is somewhat ironic, then, that CoNCA’s roles and responsibilities have overlapped with ICEC’s given that ICEC largely serves as a centralized institute for cultural policies related to the cultural industries while CoNCA was meant to usher in a sort of paradigm shift toward decentralization (CoNCA, 2015).

Consequently, CoNCA, itself, has called for revisions to its mandate and overall function as a means of taking advantage of the platform and opportunities that a non-partisan body could offer. The argument CoNCA offers is that systemic reforms are needed in Catalonia to “place culture as a fundamental national issue” (CoNCA, 2015, p. 15). In doing so, the various stakeholders involved in cultural policymaking can more easily “reach a consensus on the main lines of action” which would, in turn, remove culture’s dependency on politics (p. 15). In this respect, and beyond its overlapping responsibilities relative to other cultural agencies, CoNCA arguably serves as a space for challenging the public good; it offers a critique of the current system while also providing a check—via its state of the union reports—to cultural institutions. On the one hand, CoNCA challenges the public good in its endeavor to see changes to the ways in which cultural policy is delivered in Catalonia. However, CoNCA goes one step further and serves, through its reports, as an implicit (and sometimes explicit) act of protestation. In particular, CoNCA’s reports have measuredly protested the conditions under which culture has become a political tool in Catalonia—a notion arguably made more salient by the fact CoNCA, even as an arm’s-length, non-partisan organization, is still a product of the very government and system it is challenging. On the other hand, CoNCA serves to provide a space for brainstorming and collective dialogue; it provides recommendations for how to address and overcome many of the issues it finds present in Catalonia’s cultural sector. Far from simply being a source for contestation, CoNCA offers Catalonia provisions for resolving its cultural issues. In this respect, CoNCA offers an alternative approach—an alternative common principle and investment formula—to the one advocated by the ICEC.

6.5 Autonomy and the Catalonian Culture Moving Forward

Perhaps more so than either Québec or Scotland, Catalonia’s cultural policy serves as a field of resistance to the isomorphic pressures of its country and those abroad. Catalonia’s case serves as an example of how local and/or regional autonomy is almost always subject to a dominant nation-state—and, if not a dominant nation-state, then almost certainly the imposition of an imperialist or colonialist regime (Zolberg, 2003). Marked by its experience of cultural suppression at the hands of a dictator—an experience that was recent enough for the scars to still be fresh in the minds of many of the sub-state’s citizens—Catalonia’s policies reflect an urgency to solidify the Catalan culture and identity in ways that will, arguably, ensure that what happened during the Franco regime cannot be repeated. Since Spain’s democratization in the 1970s, this urgency to protect Catalan culture has been manifested through Catalonia’s and, to a certain degree, Spain’s culturally significant policies. Beginning with Catalonia’s Statute of Autonomy—which assures Catalonia a measure of self-governing power—and its language (normalization) policies—that have sought to reintegrate the Catalan language into everyday parlance, there has been an evident desire to provide a legal/constitutional infrastructure to Catalan culture as a means of ensuring its long-term maintenance and survival. These policies are also notable for the ways in which they challenge Spanish sovereignty—a point it would be difficult to contest was unintentional on the part of the Catalonian Generalitat. Nevertheless, these policies have assured Catalonia a measure of cultural security, even if a growing number of Catalans feel that it is insufficient (re: Bel, 2015; Crameri, 2014).

And yet, even with some constitutional assurances, Catalonia’s cultural policies arguably evidence the efforts of a government unsure of how to proceed with the redevelopment of a culture that was, up until the 1970s, ravished by policies that were knowingly and actively designed to assure its destruction. The result has, arguably, been a culture struck in a strange sort of developmental check: on the one hand, elements of the culture that have been there for hundreds of years (i.e. language) remain prominent fixtures of the Catalan culture; on the other hand, there was a significant break (albeit brief in the overall historical context of the culture) in the culture’s progression—one that was sufficient enough to have effectively compromised the salience of Catalan being a strong, unified culture the way one might argue the Québécois and Scottish are. It is a situation that has offered the Generalitat unique opportunities and challenges vis-à-vis the creation and promotion of culture and the cultural policies that regulate them. It has provided opportunity in the sense that Catalonia entered the post-Franco era with a relatively blank slate where culture was concerned. While remnants of the (old) Catalan culture remained, how the Generalitat has ultimately opted to weave those cultural strands into a cogent and coherent cultural (identity) tapestry has been largely a process of its own choosing. The post-Franco era has been, to use a saying popularized in pop culture, an opportunity to “reboot” the Catalan culture, taking the “essential” elements and building something for a new audience. For the most part, the Generalitat’s approach to cultural policy has, arguably, focused on identity (re)formation and distinction—primarily through an emphasis on linguistic differences in culture between Catalonia and Spain. Even Catalonia’s more recent cultural policies and institutions—namely, ICEC (and its subdivision, Catalan Arts) and IRL—have dealt with questions of (Catalan) identity, albeit on a much larger scale. These institutions have sought to create an image of Catalonia, on an international level, that is both appealing and marketable to Catalonians and foreigners alike.

Catalan Arts, in particular, has been devised to create a brand (and brand awareness) for Catalonia’s broader—and often less mainstream—cultural industries. In doing so, Catalan Arts, arguably, negotiates not just Catalonia’s cultural identity, but also its space in an increasingly globalized world. Effectively, Catalan Arts is establishing Catalonia’s cultural place internationally—outlining the boundaries of what is and is not Catalan culture while also trying to penetrate into others’ cultural spaces with the ambition of expanding its boundaries. While this form of “identity marketing” is not new in the context of a national minority—let alone a cultural majority—and has already been evidenced in this book in the previous chapters, it is unique in the context of Catalonia insofar as it arguably represents a form of identity experimentation/formulation—of trying on “new hats” to see which fits best. The fact that Catalonia’s primary purveyor of the cultural industries, ICIC, was rebranded ICEC, and its branding initiative, Catalan Arts, was rebranded Creative Catalonia before being rebranded, once again to Catalan Arts—in both cases with no ostensible differences in their form or remit outside of their names—suggests a trial and error approach to marketing Catalonia’s culture, without any actual trial. It is in this respect that Catalonia’s cultural situation represents a challenge to the Generalitat: it is a culture that is, at once, in its formative stages and yet older than most other cultures. As a result, there is tentativeness to Catalonia’s approach to cultural development: large, proactive, and modernized ambitions mitigated by a seeming unwillingness to rock the boat too thoroughly. The end result, as CoNCA (2015) implies, is a boat without a rudder—a fact exemplified by the overabundance and repetitive nature of many of Catalonia’s cultural institutions.

The fact that there is so much overlap in Catalonia’s cultural policies and institutions reveals that, while the Generalitat recognizes its system’s deficiencies, it has been incapable or unwilling to fully address them. For good or bad, the Generalitat has seemingly latched on to the Catalan language as the definitive element of its culture—and most, if not all, of its cultural policies address the proliferation of Catalan culture in some capacity. Even the efforts of ICEC—and as exemplified by the criticisms leveled at it in its support of cultural production (e.g. CoNCA, 2015; Crameri, 2008)—suggest that Catalonia has sought to saturate the market, both locally and abroad, with Catalan-language cultural products as a means of proliferation, a sort of “more is better” approach. It is an approach that, nevertheless, also suggests a progressive and modern perspective on recreating one’s sense of identity—one that welcomes the changing nature of cultural consumption rather than fixating on the domestic world principles of heritage and history. It suggests that Catalonia approaches cultural productions and commodities as simple vehicles for the reproduction of culture and identity; the significance or symbolism of what is actually being consumed is secondary to the act of consuming it in the Catalan language. For a sub-state whose cultural identity is largely centralized around language, the cultural industries provide the means to disseminate culture in that language while also challenging the cultural majority whose cultural-linguistic rights are constitutionally deemed superior. However, there is an inherent danger in controlling for language without controlling, necessarily, for content or message; it provides an opportunity for the cultural industries to have a prominent role in shaping Catalan culture beyond language.

The very existence of ICEC reveals that the cultural industries play a prominent role in Catalonia’s cultural development. Yet without a clear directive—or, more specifically, a streamlined directive from one source—it seems as though Catalonia’s cultural industries have a relatively free reign to produce whatever they want provided it is in Catalan. The targeted nature of ICEC’s support—notably with respect to the audiovisual sector—suggests a similar conclusion: ICEC’s targeting the more prolific and profitable industries, not necessarily the most meaningful industries where the Catalan culture is concerned. The fact that heritage and more traditional forms of culture have taken a backseat in Catalonia’s approach to cultural policy suggests that their contributions to Catalan culture are, if not irrelevant, ineffective in their ability to grow the Catalan language and culture. This approach, as mentioned, can be interpreted as a sign of urgency—to build up the foundation of Catalan culture (i.e. its language) at all costs, with the implication being that once that culture is firmly in place, efforts can be made to look back and reintegrate heritage and tradition. But it is an approach that raises more questions than answers. Fundamentally, does Catalan culture still exist beyond its language? To what extent does any culture exist beyond its language?

As globalization erodes the socio-economic and cultural boundaries between countries and nations, it seems as though cultural difference is being reduced to its most basic features. In the case of Catalonia that feature is its language, and judging by its cultural policies, it would seem the Generalitat has recognized this fact and is doubling down to ensure that its language continues to exist. In doing so, however, the Generalitat must invariably grapple with the potential trade-off of one fundamental cultural trait in exchange for others. It is a trade-off that seemingly all cultures must make at some point—but one that is most saliently felt by cultural minorities who contend with being others within the context of their own countries.