Heard in Euskadi Irratia: “They will interpret a work by José Ignacio Ansorena…”. I thought I was alive. I have the same false opinion of many. No, but I was confused with the late uncle José Luis. Honor me like my uncle, even in death. He was also the object of admiration.

Father Isidro, like the rest of the house, offered José Luis a mute work, the joy of his Son. I had invented a simple game for the kids: she sat in the chair, putting the baby on her thighs and walking back and forth as we sang. In the piece dedicated to his uncle, he used the tone that made us laugh at the youngest in the family. That joy attached itself to José Luis forever. So many things he's had plenty of giving away.

At his death, for ninety-one years (in the absence of a day), it has been a constant praise in the media, how he created his organizations, how he tried to spread Basque music and make musicians known… Eresbil, today converted into a model public institution, its light and work, its commitment, its commitment.

Where did the courage and joy come from? Franciscan probably. At the age of fourteen, he decided to leave the Capuchin friar, an assistant to the poor and weak. He has pursued this purpose firmly throughout his lifetime. With real joy.
The Franciscan worked well with the firm character. Since he had nothing to hide and did not have a single moment in the room, he had always cultivated the freedom to speak to his religious masters or other authorities. Many heard the warm words of José Luis.

Mountaineering was also related to it. I didn't need to go up to the Everest to aerate his spirit. He knew Larrasa or Mendaur, Ernio or Aitxuri, Anboto or Orhi well. The shores of Urbasa are the ones we like the most. There they called him the pastors' hat.

This is not understood these days. The choice of this party of capital liberalism is to facilitate the path to those who move with greed, to the entrepreneurs of a single figure, to those who want to tell that, supposedly for bringing wealth and future, they trample their lower ones well and that, with the inflated ego, they have trampled the top of Everest, reaching in stupid rows.

A pawn who committed to poverty has opened up a better future for us. And we got to more beautiful summits. For that we don't need egos, we need wings.