The documentary Don’t Call Me Ternera, directed by Jordi Évole and Màrius Sánchez, was the subject of controversy prior to its premiere at the San Sebastián International Film Festival that dissipated, practically completely, once it could be seen. Now, Netflix premieres this audiovisual today, so that the public will be able to form an opinion about a risky work that reviews, in 101 minutes, the history of the terrorist group by José Antonio Urrutikoetxea, alias Josu Ternera, member or leader of the organization for half a century.
The controversy surrounding the film arose when 500 citizens, among whom were people from the world of culture and victims of ETA, requested by letter to the San Sebastián festival to withdraw the film, understanding that it was “part of the process of whitewashing ETA and the tragic terrorist history in our country.” The director of the contest, José Luis Rebordinos, denied the major issue and invited the signatories to wait for the premiere to give their opinion. This controversy evaporated when several victims were finally able to see it and were forceful in stating that there is not one iota of justification for terrorism. Quite the contrary, they agreed in appreciating that Urrutikoetxea comes out very badly, a perception that was corroborated by criticism from Sortu leaders or the former ETA leader himself.
The documentary said goodbye at that point in San Sebastián, until its long-awaited arrival on Netflix. The film premieres today amid the expectation of knowing Évole’s handling of such a controversial interview and the doubt about how the public will respond. Films and series on the theme of terrorism in the Basque Country have demonstrated the ability to become audience hits and have almost always been accompanied by visceral criticism.
In this case, Jordi Évole and Màrius Sánchez are committed to approaching the drama of violence in Euskadi through a long interview with Urrutikoetxea, who joined ETA at the end of the sixties and was one of those in charge of reading the dissolution statement in in 2018, seven years after they laid down their weapons permanently.
Throughout the interview, filmed in the style of Évole’s audiovisual products, the interviewer reviews the context in which he joined ETA, his participation in the attack against Carrero Blanco or in the murder of Víctor Legorburu, the mayor of Galdakao in 1976, the only attacks in which he admits having participated directly.
The interview also focuses on attacks such as the one at the Zaragoza barracks in 1987, which the National Court blamed on him since he was a leader of ETA, the Hipercor massacre or the murder of Dolores González Katarain, Yoyes. The interviewer seeks an ethical reflection on terrorism and places Urrutikoetxea in the mirror of jihadist terrorism. Opposite, the testimony of Francisco Ruiz, injured in the attack against Legorburu, closes a documentary about a life dedicated to the fanaticism of violence. “I volunteered when I was 17 years old. I have 71 past. There is no doubt that ETA is part of my life,” says the protagonist.
