prison interview
Every society keeps its own catalogue of deviance. In modern Spain, a troubling trend has taken root on social networks: the claim that freedom of expression is under attack when someone condemns or endorses a sexist or homophobic line in a song, sometimes celebrated. In this charged climate, rappers who weaponize their words for political ends face criminal consequences. Critics argue that the media in Spain seems to defend freedom of expression only when it protects far-right voices, a sentiment voiced during discussions around the documentary We Will Not Be Silent, which played at the In-Edit festival on a recent Saturday.
The film centers on the stories behind campaigns against vocal artists and political activism. Three prominent figures—Hasél, Valtònyc, and Elgio—are highlighted as emblematic cases in a country that has faced intense scrutiny over freedom of expression in recent years. Hasél, born Pablo Rivadulla Duró, has remained imprisoned at Ponent prison in Lleida since February of the previous year. His mother also faced an open criminal case for participating in demonstrations demanding her son’s release. Valtònyc, real name Josep Miquel Arenas Beltrán, sought refuge in Brussels after escaping a three-and-a-half-year sentence upheld by the Supreme Court, while Elgio, also known as Alex Nicolaev, endured similar legal pressure. Eleven rappers from the La Insurgencia collective received sentences of six months in prison and eight years of disqualification after a ruling that drew connections between left-wing rap and broader radical causes.
Fran García Tapia, once a drummer for bands The!Fuck and The Hills Around, and a member of the Catalan Musicians Activists Syndicate, played a pivotal role from the film’s inception. The No Callarem platform, created in 2017, emerged as a coordinated response to the wave of repression tied to the so-called gag law, a policy approved in 2015 by a government then facing citizen protests. García Tapia recalls thinking it was almost science-fiction that writing lyrics could lead to a case before the National Supreme Court. Parallel to mobilizations that peaked during a week of free-speech events at Modelo prison in Barcelona in April 2018, the idea of a documentary took shape. The project sought to illuminate the human stories behind Hasél, Valtònyc, and Elgio, and to challenge the media’s one-sided portrayal by presenting another side of the story.
prison interview
As the project matured, it formed a clear direction. The audiovisual cooperative Brunato contributed, with three directors of the film: Claudia Arribas, Violeta Octavio, and Carlos Juan Martínez. The production carried a budget near seventy thousand euros, partly raised through crowdfunding. The documentary features interviews with the three protagonists, Hasél being the only one who has conducted an interview since his imprisonment, and appearances by artists such as Albert Pla, Ana Tijoux, Bittah from Tribade, Las Bajas Pasiones, Za!, Yolanda Sey from The Sey Sisters, Nacho Vegas, saxophonist Irene Reig, and the notable Majorcan musician Mateu Matas.
No Callarem chronicles the paths of three young people from diverse backgrounds and reveals how court decisions reverberate through their lives, affecting both hip-hop culture and political activism. Hasél’s life shifted after a formative encounter with poverty in a neighborhood, while Elgio, born in Sabadell and raised in Moldova, endured hardship and eviction that inspired his lyrics. He describes writing a first song as a simple love tribute to his mother, with political engagement coming later in his career.
“Nuclear Destruction Bomb”
For Valtònyc, music serves as a conduit for anger, sorrow, and expression. A family tragedy, not explored in depth in the documentary, shaped his path. Raised in Mallorca by his older sister from the age of eight, he used rap to fuse emotion, poetry, and provocation. Josep Miquel Arenas released his first demo at fifteen and faced his first arrest at eighteen, following a complaint by the then-president of an anti-Catalan group. A line in a song about Jorge Campos drew a harsh response and led to legal charges including accusations of incitement and insult to the Crown. The subsequent flight to Belgium culminated in a refusal by Belgian authorities to extradite, insisting the lyrics fell within the realm of freedom of expression. In Spain, the Valtònyc case contributed to legal changes abroad, with Belgium later striking down a provision punishing insults to the king in its penal code.
Yet in Spain, the landscape remained unsettled. The gag law persisted, protests faded from the streets, and freedom of expression was frequently invoked in defense of controversial statements from far-right artists. García Tapia notes the chilling effect of fear and warns that this suppression could spread beyond a few rappers to affect ordinary people who protest layoffs or other political actions. The closing sentiment underscores the fragility of civil liberties: Tomorrow it could be you, a warning directed at Hasél and others who speak out against power.