The Jewish writer who fell victim to a decree issued at the Alhambra

The ‘Decree of the Alhambra’, which ordered the expulsion of all Jews from Spain, was signed by the Catholic Monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, on 31 March 1492, inside the Alhambra palace in Granada. 534 years have passed, and another Jew must leave Granada.

It transpires that the Jewish writer Ariana Harwicz, published in Italy by Ponte alle Grazie and a nominee for the Man Booker International Prize, has been excluded from the University of Granada’s International Festival of Art and Literature. Harwicz was due to take part in a discussion dedicated to her work on 26 September. However, the invitation was withdrawn following protests by activists and university staff who discovered something extremely serious: Harwicz is opposed to the boycott of Israeli artists.

“There is a great deal of fear, not only amongst those who are expelled, but also amongst the others,” Harwicz tells El País. “You feel a great sense of loneliness and fear that they will take your books back and stop inviting you.”

He does not hesitate to accuse them of anti-Semitism. “If I belonged to another minority, no one would have done this to me. In the cultural sphere, the erasure of Jews is justified.” In Spain, as in the case of the carnival celebrations in Andorra, this can take the form of an effigy representing the State of Israel, subjected to a public ‘trial’, shot with a firearm and set alight during the festivities, which were also attended by local officials. The effigy is hanged, symbolically put on trial and sentenced to death. Or take the case of the three elderly Israeli Jewish women wearing the Star of David who were expelled from the famous Reina Sofía National Museum in Madrid. The women, one of whom was a Holocaust survivor, were attacked by some visitors shouting “child killers” and “murderers!”. Instead of removing the attackers, the museum staff asked the Jewish women to leave.

They’re talking about Zionism. “Zionist is the demonised and exploited term used to discriminate against Jews,” says Harwicz. “And they like Jews who want to destroy the State of Israel. They’re punishing me for being the ‘bad’ Jew. Why should they be the ones to decide who’s a ‘good’ Jew and who’s a ‘bad’ one? I was the only person at the festival whose articles were all scrutinised to see whether they’d let me through or not.”

Six female writers had also signed a letter calling for her dismissal to the authorities. Five hundred prominent figures from the world of culture responded with a counter-letter of protest condemning Harwicz’s dismissal, which was also signed by the renowned Spanish philosopher Fernando Savater and the former French Prime Minister Manuel Valls.

The award-winning Irish writer John Banville, published by Guanda, a Booker Prize winner and the festival’s headline act, was due to bring the festival to a close. Instead, he walked out with a single sentence: “My withdrawal was my statement”. He offered no explanation. He did not negotiate. He withdrew his own prestige from the stage. A rare gesture, because it comes at a cost. But it is almost all that, in an age of celebrity and fear, a writer can still do. The same logic has already claimed other names.

In June, a renowned far-left Israeli film director, Nadav Lapid – winner of the Berlinale (and the Jury Prize at Locarno and Cannes) – was excluded from the Marseille Film Festival, which withdrew its invitation for him to sit on the jury following pressure from pro-Palestinian actors and directors who had threatened to withdraw their films if Lapid took part.

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” said Monty Python in 1970. The pro-Pal Inquisition, however, certainly should.