A personal reflection published on 23 November 2025 about the previous day's meeting at TBS. This is not an announcement of a current broadcast or collaboration.
Last week, the phone rang, and with it came the tremor of two worlds.
TBS TV wanted me to collaborate on one of its programmes.
The news arrived like a palm tree of jaleo: radiant, unexpected, beautiful.
But behind the joy came that old pang…
the one that stirs when some in Japan look at flamenco without understanding its roots.
— ◆ —
Many years ago, I lived through an experience that left a scar.
One of those things that leave no mark on the body,
but change the way you offer yourself to the world.
Since then, I have learned to protect my art as though it were my child.
When things appear on television that disrespect my culture,
something inside me draws tight like a flamenco shawl draped the wrong way.
— ◆ —
Even so, yesterday, November 22, I walked into the TBS building.
A two-hour meeting with two respectful people,
courteous, genuinely eager to understand what I do
and to avoid turning flamenco into a caricature.
— ◆ —
This time, I came prepared:
every question, every condition,
every “this far, yes” and every “this line must not be crossed”.
I did not want to be just another artist again.
I did not want to give away the truth of my culture for a second of television.
— ◆ —
The meeting ended with an “I’m not going to do it”.
I said it calmly, without anger, with the dignity of someone tending to their roots.
We left the building, I breathed in the cold air…
and then that mischievous heart appeared again,
the one I sometimes mistake for intuition,
but which, at other times, is simply the wish not to close a door.
— ◆ —
I called them just as I stepped outside.
I told them yes.
That I would accept the work.
— ◆ —
I still do not know whether it was courage or an act of faith.
But something in my chest told me that this time could be different.
Sometimes fate nudges you down a corridor you never wanted to walk.
And sometimes that corridor turns out to be the entrance to the place where you were meant to be.
— ◆ —
Today, I write this only so I will not forget:
the decision was not perfect,
but it was human.
And in this country that took me in,
remaining human is already a form of resistance.
— ◆ —
—Beni
The Rhythm of the Rising Sun