Spontaneous anger

I do not get angry very often and if I do, I certainly don’t show it. I actively see this as a fault in my character. From now on I see it as my obligation to show my anger more often in public and I can’t think of a better place to do than here in Spain, where it is some strange type of national pastime.

Spanish have no problem in venting their irritation at public authority figures, such as postmen, bus- and taxi-drivers and – dare I say – gas station holders and doormen (authority figures? In their eyes a definite yes!).

My ill-fated relationship with bus drivers took another turn last week as I tried to negotiate my way into a bus which was not going where I wanted it to be going. This sounds odd – and you are right it is – but I was doing so just to annoy the public authority figure which was in this case a rather ugly bus driver.

I will explain.

Upon arriving at the bus stop of bus 224 which brings me to a class out east in San Fernando de Henares there was a chubby bold man telling people very friendly that the bus was not going to stop at any of the other bus stops, in stead going it was going straight to its destination Torrejón. Thus, missing my San Fernando bus stop quite comfortably. I understood this, so after telling the man my destination I asked him when the next bus was coming which wás going to stop at my busstop.

I did so in good Spanish, but he replied in a very fast tongue. Hijo, no te entiendo, tienes que esperar. Son, I don’t understand you, you have to wait. I told him that I knew this already but that I wanted to know when the next bus was coming. He refused to answer my question as he presumably thought I was Polish (this happens quite a lot actually) and therefore not worthy of an answer.

Right there, I wanted to verbally tear this silly little man apart. I wanted to tell him to fuck-off and to answer my question politely. In stead I tried to enter the bus although it would not bring me to where I wanted to go. My plan worked, he started shouting at me “You shouldn’t do this, you are wrong, you are wrong, come back!”, he veered as he ran after me into his own bus. I had reversed the anger and this gave me great relief. We looked at each other and I laughed. The ultimate revenge.

The next bus arrived five minutes later and there were no further problems. However, I should have done things differently. I should have done things like Giovani Trapattoni – one time boss of Bayern Munich. As I was waiting for the next bus to arrive I remembered how this Italian football coach went on a verbal rampage against pretty much all of his players at a post-match press conference. The important thing here was that he did it in German – not his first language – but still went crazy. I wish I could do this in Spanish. Next time I run into a public authority figure messing things up for me I will do things like this (please follow link as it will demonstrate how I will be in the future):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bqp64q7kHmw

Chronos and Kairos

“But, Thomas, we won’t get depressed will we?” asked one of my better students in almost perfect English.

I gave her a rye smile in return.

“Well…” I started, with a pause giving me time to think. We would be discussing the difference between two forms of the future tense: ‘will’ and ‘to be + going to’. I had thought it would be a good idea putting this into practice by telling each other our New Year Resolutions. ‘Will’ could be used for something they would be 100% sure of doing in 2008 and ‘going to’ could be followed by a plan they had for the New Year.

Later on we would use these New Year resolutions to practice what Unit 11 of our Grammar Book calls ‘Commenting on the past (the future in the past)’. We would magically travel in time to the 8th of January 2009 and look back at these resolutions. So, for example they would have to construct phrases like “I said that I would start learning French” or “I thought that I was going to travel to Amsterdam”. Perfect class plan.

My student of course didn’t know this yet so I replied “This depends on your resolutions.” Unit 11 had however nothing to do with the question she had asked, so I followed up my answer knowing exactly where she was getting at: “But don’t worry, you won’t get depressed, that was only one class and I will not let it happen again.” All students sighed in relief and I could continue with the class, although I did think back to that fateful class where all of my five students banged their heads on the table shouting in Spanish Mi vida es una mierda “I have a shit life” and something else similar to “Is it all worth it?”

So, what happened?

I had found a nice and interesting text in the Headway Intermediate Student book of English. The article was about time and at the beginning of the class I had written the following word on the blackboard: kairological time. Blatantly trying to impress them with this word I looked around the classroom and waited for some sort of reaction. There came none. Waiting for that spark to kick off the class I encouraged them by saying: “by the end of the class you will know what this means!” My excitement was not immediately returned, but I knew for a fact that it would be interesting.

To start things off I asked them to think of a normal day and write down for example: At seven o’clock I get up and have a shower. At nine o’clock I arrive at work. At eleven o’clock I have a coffee, etc. The point was that they had to use the present simple for habitual actions. As I gleefully listened to their answers I knew this class was going exactly where I was hoping it would be going.

On the blackboard I made a list of all their phrases. All of them concerned more or less the same. Getting up, breakfast, going to work, having lunch, going to a meeting, driving home, and finally going to bed. “You, beauty,” I thought, “I will get my message across, of this I am sure.”

After this exercise we read the text which was about Time. It had various interesting observations in it. For example, it discussed how various civilizations valued time. The Thai Karen tribe, you see, measures time in distance. The Karen always know where they are, when they are, how far they are from sunset or home: for time and distance are connected in the Karen language. Therefore, if you would ask a Karener about the time of sunset they would say: “Oh, about three kilometers away” (thank heavens nobody asked how it was that the Karen had knowledge of the metric system) because the only way of traveling is to walk, which takes a known length of time.

However, the piece de resistance would be saved for the end of the text. For there, the difference would be explained between the two Greek gods of Time Kronos and Kyros. We read together:

Gods of Time

The ancient Greeks had different gods for time’s different aspects. One of the most important was Chronos, who gives his name to absolute time, linear, chronological and quantifiable. But the Greeks had another, far more slippery and colourful, god of time, Kairos. Kairos was the god of timing, of opportunity, of chance and mischance, of different aspects of time. Time is qualitative. If you sleep because the clock tells you it’s way past your bedtime that is chronological time: whereas if you sleep because you’re tired, that is kairological time. If you eat biscuits when you’re hungry, that is kairological time: whereas if you eat by the clock that is chronological time. After this small history lesson we returned to the black board where I had already neatly summed up their activities and created two columns: Chronic and kairological time. We went through the list and as we discussed each one of them I put them in the correct column. “At seven o’clock I wake up” I said hoping to kick off a discussion. “Chronos!” was the immediate reply. “We are not ready to wake up, we do so because we have to!” they shouted as if in a heavenly English choir. “That’s right!” I danced as I added the rather ridiculous “Ooh, so much more than just an English class!”. I desperately wanted to give them something to think about.

We continued. “Nine o’clock, off to work” was next. “Chronic time! It’s against nature!” chanted the group, now full of exaltation. “How about lunch?” I asked with a quick response following: “Chronos, Chronos, Chronos! We don’t eat ‘cause were hungry, but because our bosses tell us it is time to” stirred the class which was rapidly turning into some odd form of Time Rebellion. I was already sensing that I might have overcooked my chicken.

And indeed, the chants and shouting quickly dimmed down. A soft voice uttered “So I guess going to bed after Los Hombres de Paco (TV show which ends at 23.45) is also determined by Chronic time as I am normally not tired at all, but just do it because I know that I have to get up early in the morning,” said my clever student earning herself eight forceful eyes of anger.

The penny had dropped. Everything they had just summed up was determined by Chronos, totally leaving the more joyous, colorful and adventurous God Kairos out of their lives. Heads fell. Although I was glad that my plan had caused such a discussion I had lost the war. Smiles disappeared and the dropping heads were soon hitting the cold, white, synthetic table. Thud.

The only male student in the class room decided to break the silence which followed the frantic outings of despair I mentioned earlier. “You have depressed us Thomas,” summing up the feeling of my advanced group pretty nicely. I could offer them no real response. I had not thought that the class would take such a twist. I certainly didn’t have the answer. Telling them to start following Kairos would, in reality, be like telling them to simultaneously quit their jobs and this would lead me into a right muddle.

I had a quick look at my watch as everybody looked at me in disgust. Without realizing that I was checking the time – the very topic which had brought me into this mess – I was about to say “Hey, look, its well past 20.15, so class has finished, you can go home.” Luckily I understood my problem at the correct moment. I recovered and said “Don’t you all just feel like going home? Yes, let’s follow Kairos for once and go home happily,” I attempted.

They were not to be fooled. “We’re still depressed Thomas” was the last comment before everybody left in silence leaving me to ponder what had just happened.

On Politics (Part 2): Partido Popular

Whereas the US Presidential hopefuls are combating each other amongst euphemisms such as Tsunami Tuesday and Super Sunday, here in Spain you would be forgiven for not noticing that the general elections are only a mere two months away. Although liberal opposition leader Mariano Rajoy and sitting Prime Minister Rodrigo Zapatero feature on the daily news flashes they have yet debated together in public, nor have there been any smear campaigns, or come to think of it, any campaign at all.

As I promised some months ago, I would be writing a series on politics here in Spain. It has taken me some time to follow up this promise because I knew that my next article had to be about the Partido Popular (PP), the current right-wing opposition party. There are simply so many things wrong with this political movement that I just did not know where to start. So, let me begin to explain where this party began, for later discussing where it went wrong.

Trousers
Actually I have to correct myself here; the Partido Popular never went wrong. It began wrong. It was founded as the Aliaza Popular (AP) in 1976, by the former Franco government Propaganda and Tourism minister Manuel Fraga. This grumpy political hardliner only gave up political prominence in 2005 when he was defeated as president of the autonomous region of his native Galicia. Just one look at the man some people call the Fragasaurus, makes you understand why people don’t rate him as highly as his trousers rate him.

During Franco’s time he had been responsible for catapulting Spain’s tourism into stardom for which he is well respected. However, he has been heavily criticized for never really distancing himself from his pro-Franco comments. Whatever your view of him is, Fraga played a crucial role in Spain’s transition from dictatorship to democracy. As a political heavy-weight it was him who amongst others personally signed the constitution Spain still has today.

As Fraga failed to beat the Socialists in the 80s (lead by four-term Prime Minister Filipe Gonzalez) he in the end decided to hand over his leadership. After some internal battles Jose Maria Aznar became his successor. In doing so, one of the most despicable political leaders Europe has seen in its post-war years was introduced.

PP Government
Aznar’s star rose considerably and quickly. Within two years of joining the AP he was elected for parliament, followed by a stint as president of the autonomous region of Castile and Leon and ultimately he was elected as Party president (of the renamed Partido Popular). After losing out yet again to Gonzalez he – and the PP with him – finally got their revenge in 1996 when for the first time in Spain’s post-Franco history a right-wing party won the general elections against a PSOE crippled by alleged corruption charges.

Spain got what it voted for. I cannot comment too much on his eight year reign as I was not around, however Aznar’s legacy will forever – as Tony Blair’s – be linked to one theme: his decision to send Spanish troops to Iraq. Aznar was obsessed with aiding his new best friend George W. Bush, whereas other European continentals such as France and Germany frowned upon this seemingly idiotic show of ‘I want to be your pal’.

Kodak Moment
There is a joke here in Spain that Aznar chose to send his troops to Iraq just so that he could get a photo with George W. and Tony. This is exactly what he got when the three met in the Azores to seal the fate of country that has never been the same since. This country of course being…Spain.

Whilst Spain was getting ready to vote in their general elections four years ago it seemed certain that the PP would win a third successive term. This would have made present leader Rajoy Spain’s second right-wing president as Aznar, valiantly stepped aside claiming that a president should only be allowed to sit eight years “like in America”.

However, Al-Qaida thought otherwise and killed 192 people three days before the elections.

This event started a string of lies which has dominated domestic politics ever since. Interior Minister Miguel Ángel Acebes immediately appeared on the television claiming it was ETA who had carried out the attacks. He did so practically every 20 minutes for three days. With him the whole PP echoed that it was not Al-Qaida, but the Basque terrorists who were to blame for the March 11 bombings. It was in the interest of the PP that ETA was the guilty party as an Al-Qaida attack would point the bloody finger directly to the men who sent Spanish troops into foreign territory without the mandate of their people.

Spaniards were not fooled and elected the rather surprised Rodrigo Zapatero who immediately pulled out Spanish troops, infuriating the United States.

Lesson
The defeated PP should have learned their lesson right there and then, but it didn’t. If in the Netherlands such an attempt of public deception had been made, it would have certainly meant the end of the political careers (and maybe even a jail term) of all of those involved. In stead Acebes remains Secretary General of the PP and will certainly hold a prominent position in government if the PP wins next March.

After everything what has happened the PP still uses terrorist threat for political gain. Whenever ETA strikes (it has happened twice in the past year) they organize a demonstration ‘for peace and stability of this country’ openly questioning why the PSOE does not join them.

Rajoy, Acebes, Aznar and their mates do not understand that this type of demonstrations (against terrorism) should not be politically coloured, but partisan. It is very dangerous to associated domestic terrorism with your political opponents. Dangerous and wrong.

It is these demonstrations which further anger me. The party has taken national symbols and made it their own. Spanish flags are massively represented and the National Anthem is played after the main speeches, followed by a loud ‘Viva España’. Again, dangerous and wrong.

Public Memory
Another topic of fierce discussion between the two main parties here in Spain is the new Law of Historic Memory. This new law goes against the agreement made during Spain’s Transition period (incidentally Spain’s most interesting piece of history) that to advance as quickly as possible all should be collectively forgotten in an attempt to secure a stable democracy.

At the time this certainly was a good idea. Spain would still be internally muddling if it was not for this decision. However, it is obvious that now is the time to start constructing the real truth, to find out what really happened during Franco’s years, to uncover the painful wounds left by those who at present still have everything to lose if reality comes out to play.

In the Independent you can read our friend Acebes commenting on this new law. It reads (click link for article):

“The PP said the initiative was "a huge mistake" that rakes up memories of the worst time in Spain's recent history. "Zapatero has brought division and confrontation, and reopened the wounds of the past," said Angel Acebes, the PP's general secretary.” The Independent adding that “The PP has never dissociated itself from Franco, and many members covertly admire him.”

In other words, the PP would prefer to just ‘forget’ what happened in those forty years of dictatorship, even after thirty years of stability. This is like explaining to a Holocaust survivor that he should stop making so much noise as it’s just better for the rest of us to turn our heads. It really is like this. Dangerous and wrong.

It is not just their terrorism focussed politics and their symbols. It is also their people. The Party President Mariano Rajoy blatantly lacks the charisma of Aznar and it is obvious that Aznar still plays a huge role within the party and therefore Spanish politics. It is incorrect that a former PM makes so many politically tinted comments. Not only is he undermining Rajoy, he is undermining the whole political system. “You had your time, now shut-up,” seems to be the general common sense opinion.

The PP Voter
Then, ultimately there are the PP voters. You can spot them from a mile away although often – as common amongst conservative voters – they do not admit it. They wear posh clothes, have little Spanish symbols such as mini-flags in their cars, on their wrists, on their foreheads. They often have not travelled outside their beloved Madrid and if they have done, it will have been to far-away destinations, preferably the States.

Their love for Spain as one unity blinds them from the fact that Spain is a beautiful diverse country with an array of traditions to be proud of. In stead of being proud, they are cynical and sour, marching and shouting for more Spanishness.

Witnessing this has surprised me and disgusted me at the same time. The opposition has been so poor that it begs to be believed. A prominent PSOE politician wrote in El Pais this Sunday. “We have to win, we will win. Just imagine if Rajoy, Acebes and Zaplana are allowed to run the country.” A simple remark, but utterly true. It would be a complete disaster.

El fin de la huelga

The Madrid Metro Cleaners strike has finally come to an end. Tuesday morning was the first in about twenty days that we Madrileños could enter our little subterranean world without having to step on layers of garbage ranging from banana skins, to ripped-up papers, to puke. It is a relief to all. I can now once again sniff up that fresh carbon filled air with a whiff of delight.

The honest truth is that I did not take any real interest in the reasoning of the strikers. The problem is that I am not a striking person. I come from the more modest mould of ‘why can’t we just ask really politely whilst extensively using the magic word (which is, as I am sure you already know, the word please)?’. When in real desperation you should revert to the more dramatic pretty please. As you might expect this hasn’t really brought me to any heights just yet.

The thing is that I am neither in a position to go on strike. Really, what would happen? I would be replaced immediately at the consultancy by one of a score of recently graduated Social Science students unable to get a foot in the door. Then, the English school would just contract another under-qualified American pretender on a gap-year and my voluntary organization, well, I am not even sure if it is even possible to be a volunteer on strike.

So, there it is. The thing that did upset me a bit was that most of the damage in the Metro system was done by the cleaners themselves. Up to 22 employers were fired as it was found out that they were deliberately littering the underground in order to enhance the effects of the strike! What’s that all about? That goes directly against what you are supposed to do. Please follow these links to have a look at what they were doing: Madrid Metro 1 and Madrid Metro 2.

If my imaginary strike would continue, this would mean that I would have to continue working as English teacher but deliberately teach them incorrect English (But, Thomas, can you really say ‘I shit in the milk’?), thus not being on strike but just sabotaging. At the consultancy it would mean that I would have to create more work for them by creating extra projects. Therefore I would have to be employed by the European Commission if I would seriously want to sabotage in the way of the Metro Strikers. Sabotage, in my case, therefore would just mean more (and better!) work! And then I am not speaking about the volunteer work where I would have to construct myself a cayuco (one of these boats refugees build to cross the ocean) and wash myself up on the Canary coast line!

I guess I just want to say that I sympathise with the Metro Cleaners for going on strike – they certainly do a good job – but they do have it quite easy striking. Much easier than most of us. In the end, they got what they wanted, a pay rise and better social protection. But, the Metro system has decided not to renew the contract of the four main cleaning companies which suffered from the strikes! So in four months all the strikers will be out of a job! That’s bad luck.

Christmas and New Year

Thomasenmadrid has returned for the New Year! I would like to wish you all the best for 2008 and I hope you enjoyed the holidays.

This year, as always, I went to my parents’ house in High Easter, Essex, England, to celebrate Christmas. It was great. My mother, you see, is the original Christmas machine, churning out minced pies with her right hand whilst filling stockings with the other. Things haven’t changed much over the years but my mum must posses some magical success formula because everybody keeps returning.

It was more of the same this year, with Christmas dinner in suits, Midnight mass, mulled wine, stockings, too many presents, salmon and champagne, Winking Murder, Party Poppers, playing games, Boxing Day at Auntie Ann’s and my Dad’s famous after Christmas bubble and squeak.

However, things were a bit different this year. By far the most important was the introduction of a new Family Reeve Christmas Tradition: the making and baking of a gingerbread house. I learned this tradition in Sweden from my lovely neighbour Dana (who kindly supplied me with the necessary pepperkakor dough to construct the masterpiece). The principal design and building work was done by me and my brother-in-law Alex although my father was anxiously looking over our shoulders as building site supervisor. In the end he contributed with a steady icing sugar performance. For New Years, I skipped over to Holland with my sister, Alex, and two friends John and Debbs who accompanied us to The Hague where we would celebrate the New Year. My brother was already waiting for us and we would be joined by his girlfriend Ernestine and another friend of mine Clan for the actual New Year party at our house.The remaining days I spent looking up old friends and this was great fun. I saw my The Hague friends Luwe, Guus and Folkert in Rotterdam. Luwe now lives in the best apartment Rotterdam has to offer and we headed into (or down to as he lives on the 29th floor) town for some beers and sate. I had already met my old Swedish friend Ulrika with her Dutch boyfriend for seaside pancakes in Hoek van Holland. Later that day I also dropped by to say hello to Carmen’s Dutch family who received me brilliantly. The first day of the year was mostly spent with Asaf and his friends. We developed a business plan for a soon-to-be-released magazine. These are the things you do on January the first.

Anyway, I wish you all the best and please take a look at my new photo website for more Christmas and New Year photos: picasaweb.google.com/reeve.thomas