HUELGA GENERAL!

My first experience with a European labor strike came when I was about ten. My family had planned a summer trip to England/Ireland to visit my grandmother… and the pilots went on strike. In a journal that I kept at the time I write about it all very matter-of-factly… we ended up canceling the trip.

So on Thursday morning I was excited to wake up and walk through the city and see my first strike first-hand. I decided not to even try the metro, instead taking a 45-minute trek to class. Early in the morning activity was scarce… leaflets coated the ground and stickers the building windows, remnants of the previous nights’ enthusiasm, but actual strikers were hardly seen. So after class I headed downtown—to the “protest route” between Cibeles and Sol, and there I found it. Thousands of people carrying labor union signs, chanting slogans, and blowing whistles; an exciting and claustrophobia inducing mob. I set about my exploration.

I have been to several protests in Spain in the past year or so, and every time there are certain things that stand out to me. Being American, the first is, necessarily, the sheer number of people who turn out. In the States it seems that protesting is really hard. Perhaps the recent Occupy movements have changed this, but in my experience, protest is usually the political means taken by the perhaps too-devoted fringe. If you’re protesting, you’re probably a little bit fanatic. By contrast, in Spain, EVERYONE likes to protest. It’s basically an excuse to get out in the streets, hang out with your friends, chat, have a beer, and perhaps chant some slogans. This ties in closely with the other aspect of Spanish demonstrations that always impresses me—that being the demographics represented. Young and old, the visibly affluent and the visibly poor alike participate. It’s heartening, to me, to see this level of social cohesion. Even if some are only there for the botellón.

Yesterday, just hours after the general strike ended, the conservative government revealed its budget for the coming year. With deep cuts aimed at appeasing the European Union, it is likely that Spain will be the stage for more protests, demonstrations, and strikes in the coming months. So if you’re coming to Spain, I urge you to take this opportunity to immerse yourself in the global zeitgeist. The demonstrations in Madrid have been overwhelmingly peaceful, and you’d be surprised how much you can learn just by taking a walk with your eyes open.

The Game

As an avid people-watcher, I have developed many “anthropological” games over the years. One, however, is a particular favorite in Madrid. Called “spot the one who doesn’t belong” (yep, still in need of a more catchy name…), it basically consists of detecting a tourist, study abroad, or Erasmus student, having a quick guess as to where that person might be from, and then getting close enough to overhear a bit of conversation and either prove, or disprove, my guess. It’s good fun, and I highly recommend it.

I play this game almost constantly, and mostly subconsciously. The other day, however, after victoriously identifying a group of Germans, I found myself wondering how easily I would fall prey to this method of spotting the foreigner. Certainly I don’t look Spanish, but having lived in Madrid for almost 7 months now I am able to go about my daily tasks with what I imagine to be a knowledgeable and directed air. Provided I wasn’t speaking English at the time, would a fellow game-player be able to spot me easily as an American? Or would I escape the scan? I can’t imagine that I stick out as much as the water-bottle-and-camera wielding tourists, but am I one of those who just doesn’t belong, though not for any immediately ascertainable reason?

There really isn’t any way of finding out, though being asked for directions certainly boosts one’s feeling of legitimacy. This, in fact, is exactly what happened to me, as I was awakened from my musings by two young Spanish girls wearing ridiculously posh outfits and asking for the nearest “eStarbucks” or “Duunkeen Donuts”. I had no idea, of course, but that’s not really the point. Rather I am happy with the fact that, in that moment, I must have looked just a little bit like I belonged.

Lisbon

“We’re having a party tonight!” a very stylish young Portuguese man says to me, “they’re lowering the credit rating of Greece again”. I giggle, and we go on to discuss politics and education. Is an education in Political Science just an ivory tower? Will theory cause you to lose your connection to anything real? Will it drive you crazy? These questions, and others, keep reflective students awake at night.

Beyond the constant internal struggle though, my weekend in Lisbon was an absorbing investigation of the collision point of politics and the real world. Though Spain has the highest unemployment rate in the European Union, life here in Madrid continues with impressive normalcy. The crisis is a number one topic of conversation, but the bars and cafes are full and there is very little homelessness to be seen on the streets. By contrast, Lisbon is palpably crumbling. Around half of all buildings have shuttered windows and doors chained and padlocked shut; weeds already grow up from sills caked thick with grime. I saw more homelessness just walking to the nearest café than I have in my six months of living in Madrid; and graffiti on the walls of almost every building called for anarchy, solidarity with the Greeks, or spoke of the desire that the “Nazis” should return home.

My stylish friend had no delusions… “They don’t want to save Greece,” he said, referring to the so-called ‘Troika’—the IMF, European Union, and European Central Bank. Still, as a student of Political Science he had to recognize the utility of a European federation, which to me connoted some level of faith in the Union. I frowned, and wished I could explore the sentiments on the streets. Hindered by my lack of language skills and the all too swiftly passing time, however, I find myself back in Madrid with a head full of stories built around the powerful images of a collapsing capital.

Lisbon, I’ll be back.