Carlos Alsina, Luca de Tena Award winner: "I swapped print media for radio, and I haven't stopped writing since."

"Charlatans. The radio is for charlatans." He said this spitefully when I told him I was leaving the newspaper. This newspaper.

Your Majesties, your Honors, and your esteemed colleagues, as Ignacio said, I gained my first foothold in this profession as an intern in this institution, for which I have always felt so much respect and gratitude. They were also defensive weapons, I must say, because I had a section chief whom I had never seen in a good mood in 13 months. For good reason.

In 1990, ABC had 130-140 pages a day, and the editors held a morning meeting with Anson to divide the space among the sections for the following day. Of the 130 daily pages, our section was entitled to half the page. Half, with one column of advertising at the beginning.

The section was called Society, Features, and Ecology, but none of the three were covered, as you can imagine, so our boss, who was grumpy, kept us busy calling sources, conducting interviews, preparing in-depth two-paragraph reports, overthinking the title of the only article we were going to be able to publish, or writing short articles. I learned there are 77 different ways to write a line-and-a-half short article, and none of them guarantees that it will be published.

His professional zeal, in any case, was commendable. When we editors, in the late afternoon, early evening, went home, he would stay here. He'd let a little time pass. He'd pick up the phone. There were no cell phones yet, and then he'd call us one by one at our homes to continue talking about what we'd done during the day and the next day's plans. In other words, I'd walk into the house and the phone would ring. It wasn't comfortable. As has already been stated, I can confess that I once pretended to be someone else so he'd hang up.

I would deepen my voice and pretend to be my brother or a neighbor, saying, "No, Carlos isn't home yet. I'll leave a message for him." One night, I got careless, and when he said, "Who am I speaking to?" I said, "It's my father." Another lesson I learned: "Don't fake your voice." Because we are the voice we have and the things we say. And that's precisely what makes us useful: having our own voice and not emulating the voices of others.

I had to tell this section chief that I was leaving the newspaper. I told him I'd got a job, and he said, "You're going to get a job." I said, "Yes," and besides, it's on the radio, which is the medium I like best. And he heard the word "radio" and got angry. He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and, being completely nearsighted, he said to me, "But you're stupid. How are you going to change the newspaper for the radio? Radio is for charlatans. Radio is for showmen," he said. I thought I was making a huge mistake. He told me, "Journalism is done in the newspaper."

And I thought, "It must be the national newspapers, they have 50 pages a day, but us..." Anyway, I persevered in my decision, I continued gathering my things, and then he said to me, "And besides, don't you realize that if you go to radio, they'll never give you the Luca de Tena?" And that's when I faltered.

What intern hasn't dreamed of seeing themselves in a tuxedo at an evening like this, receiving a lifetime achievement award? But I recovered, took a risk, and switched from newspapers—that is, print media—to radio. Since then, I haven't stopped writing. Because on the radio, it's true we're chatty, we love to chat, but we also write a ton.

Radio is also text. And everything else I've learned in this profession, well, I've learned doing radio shows every day. I've learned that the spoken word is as noble as the written word, which it always precedes and always follows.

I've learned that the starting point is always a question, and that listening to the answer to that question is what allows you to walk the path that leads to other questions. I've learned, I think I've learned, to distinguish facts from stories, to distinguish principles from changes of opinion, honesty from imposture, criticism from lynching, and humor or joking from mockery. I've learned to know our history and cultivate memory, and I've learned to keep quiet. What will you say... well, who would have thought? I've learned the value of silence on the radio. In the end, radio is a score composed of words, sounds, and silences, because very often journalism on the radio simply consists of letting what's happening play out.

I had nothing to explain to the listeners on the morning of November 1st in Valencia so that they would feel, like everyone else there, the relief of hearing the engine of the first truck carrying heavy machinery making its way through the mud on the avenue that connects Benetúser and Alfafar.

And I didn't need to say anything when a reborn neighbor from Paiporta told us how she'd been rescued by her upstairs neighbors, who'd smashed a hole in the stairwell so the boy could climb in and pull her out, as she was floating in the water. She was unconscious, the result of hypothermia, and they were afraid she'd die on the landing. Because often on the radio, Txema, sound is the closest thing we have to a photograph. It's all there.

Copying what Antonio Machado wrote about the Royal Academy, Santiago, I say that I have such a high opinion of radio because of what it has been, what it is, and what it can be.

When Julián told me I'd received this award, he said, "I think this is the first time it's been given to someone who only does radio programs." And that's true, so you can understand what receiving this award meant to me, and in this house.

Thank you, director, and thank you members of the jury for taking the radio into your attention. And above all, thank you for freeing me from this burden I've carried alone for the past 35 years, with this gnawing doubt.

The question was: what if I had ruined a promising journalistic career by leaving ABC and marrying the microphone...

Thank you so much.