After watching the news in Spain for a while, you understand why half the airtime is devoted to sports. If it weren’t, people would go mad. Everything revolves around the crisis. Really everything. A DIY superstore advertises 200 jobs and gets 12,000 applications. Academics conceal their degrees on job applications in order to compete with people with inferior qualifications. There are street battles in Asturias between striking miners and the police. Sales of safes are on the rise.<\/p>\n
This isn’t news. It’s terror.<\/p>\n
Barcelona is full of tourists. The number of overnight stays increased last year. The caf\u00e9s around Pla\u00e7a Catalunya still serve overpriced coffee, while the police chase away beggars. To find the crisis, you have to walk a few blocks away.<\/p>\n
At an intersection on Avinguda Diagonal, I encounter Pedro Panlador, a slight man who has positioned himself in front of a Bankia branch. He wants to storm the bank. A few like-minded people have joined him. They called the offices of newspapers so that they would report on their protest, but the papers declined. Banks are being stormed all over Spain at the moment.<\/p>\n
Bankia, a bank from Madrid, evicted Panlador from his condominium because he could no longer make his loan payments. In the first three months of this year, the occupants of 200 apartments and houses were evicted every day throughout Spain.<\/p>\n
Panlador, born in Colombia, has lived in Barcelona for 12 years. He currently has \u20ac242,000 in debt. He was a chauffeur before the crisis. Now he’s been unemployed for over two years.<\/p>\n
Pedestrians walk by, some encouraging him and some applauding. No one thinks it’s wrong to be standing in front of a bank and calling the employees \u00ab\u00a0criminals.\u00a0\u00bb Panlador says that he intends to remain \u00ab\u00a0peaceful\u00a0\u00bb and that he only wants to \u00ab\u00a0speak with the director.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
Bankia lost \u20ac3 billion in 2011, and now the bank needs more than \u20ac20 billion to avoid going into bankruptcy and bringing down the Spanish financial system with it. The last CEO was Rodrigo Rato, who served as finance minister under former Prime Minister Jos\u00e9 Mar\u00eda Aznar. Rato was also managing director of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) until 2007. It’s possible that the IMF will soon have to rescue Spain. It sounds like a joke.<\/p>\n
Panlador and his boys are ready to begin storming the bank. They’re doing this for the first time. Panlador has already camped out in front of a Bankia branch before, but he feels that storming a bank makes a greater impression. He musters up courage and walks up to the entrance, where he sees that the branch has a security door and a doorbell.<\/p>\n
Panlador turns to the others. They look a little clueless. Finally, someone blows a whistle.<\/p>\n
Panlador slaps a few stickers onto the glass. The banks should stop suing delinquent customers and evicting them from their apartments, the stickers read. Spain, it seems, has become a country of sad protests.<\/p>\n
Panlador takes a few steps back. Personal bankruptcy doesn’t exist in Spain. His debt of \u20ac242,000 will stay with him his whole life. \u00ab\u00a0I’m tired,\u00a0\u00bb he says.<\/p>\n
One would think that protests need the occasional minor success, something that offers hope that the struggle is worthwhile. One would also think that it’s important to know who the enemy is.<\/p>\n
But who is to blame? Bankia, because it gave a quarter-million-euro loan to a man who was making \u20ac940 a month after taxes? Or Panlador, because he took out the loan? No one forced him to do it. Perhaps both are to blame.<\/p>\n
Or maybe it comes down to that sea of opportunities. There was construction underway and money being made everywhere. There was cheap money, and banks were practically giving it away, there was housing that seemed to finance itself, and there were jobs galore.<\/p>\n
All of this transformed the Spaniards into gambling addicts and the country into a casino. People no longer had to suffer the indignity of a neighbor having a house in Conil on the Costa de la Luz while they had only a weekend cottage on the outskirts of the city. Who would have predicted that it would all end with people like Pedro Panlador standing in front of a bank and being denied entry because of a doorbell?<\/p>\n
I shake his hand and wish him luck. Barcelona is a beautiful city, much more so than Berlin, Frankfurt or Munich, despite the \u00ab\u00a0For Sale\u00a0\u00bb signs hanging from balconies and the gold dealers opening up shop everywhere to sell the jewelry of desperate Spaniards.<\/p>\n
To me, the city feels like the wife of a factory manager who refuses to believe that the company is bankrupt. She still has her fur coat, her diamond ring and her china — but everyone knows it’ll be over soon.<\/p>\n
The unemployment rate in Barcelona rose from 7 to 17.7 percent last year. Barcelona is Spain’s richest city, and yet 17.7 percent of its working population is unemployed.<\/p>\n
\n
I get into the car and leave Barcelona. I have an appointment in Sabadell, a former textile-manufacturing town. I’m going to meet Antonio, a family man, who has also lost his home. But he doesn’t want to storm a bank. Instead, he is truly defending himself. He has occupied an apartment.<\/p>\n
It’s early afternoon, and Antonio is standing in the door to the apartment. He knows what I’m thinking. Antonio looks like George Clooney.<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0I know,\u00a0\u00bb he says, \u00ab\u00a0everyone says that.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
Antonio steps into the narrow hallway and shows me the tiny bathroom, an eat-in kitchen with a large refrigerator, and a bedroom in which there are two beds, each with a stuffed animal on it.<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0That’s it,\u00a0\u00bb says Antonio. Two rooms on the ground floor, his new home. There are several boxes stacked in the bathroom.<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0How long have you been here?\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0Two days.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0How did you get in?\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0I can’t say, but I used to be a welder. My girls will be sleeping here for the first time tomorrow.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
Antonio has two daughters, 14- and 17-years-old. The younger one goes to school, and the older one is in a training program to become a hairdresser. But because of the crisis, she isn’t being paid, and she’s also the only one from her former class who has found a position at all. Antonio pushes aside a stuffed-animal duck and sits down on the bed.<\/p>\n
Antonio Zamora Hidalgo, 47, a quiet type, began his fight against the system two days ago. He worked in a metal factory for more than 20 years and, for 12 years, he paid the mortgage payments for his apartment to BBVA, a major Spanish bank. When he stopped making the payments, he lost everything.<\/p>\n
There is no equivalent of Germany’s Hartz IV welfare payments for the long-term unemployed in Spain. There is, however, a rule stating that the borrower cannot simply return a property to the lender to settle his debt. In the worse case, he stands to lose the property and still owe the bank the full purchase price.<\/p>\n
Hidalgo had run out of options. He didn’t know what to do with the children. His wife left him because she couldn’t cope with what happened to the family. Antonio turned to PAH, a local initiative in Barcelona, where he was told that 20 percent of apartments in Spain are empty. One of them was the apartment in Sabadell, which hadn’t been occupied in five years.<\/p>\n
The small apartment is on a quiet side street in the Can n’Oriac neighborhood. It belongs to Caixa Catalunya, one of those megalomaniacal Spanish provincial savings banks that had issued mortgage loans indiscriminately in recent years and had to be bailed out with taxpayer money.<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0Is this what you imagined it would be like?\u00a0\u00bb Antonio asks.<\/p>\n
I look around the tiny room. The two beds take up almost all the space.<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0If you’re going to occupy an apartment illegally, why not a bigger one?\u00a0\u00bb I ask.<\/p>\n
Antonio laughs. He wasn’t referring to the apartment, he says, but to the situation in Spain.<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0I can tell you what the situation is like,\u00a0\u00bb says Antonio. \u00ab\u00a0The situation is that guys like me are occupying apartments.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
Who’s at fault now, I wonder as I’m driving on the highway. The man has never been in trouble with the police. He doesn’t drink, isn’t an anarchist or a leftist, and he doesn’t even watch the news. Now he’s a squatter. Maybe he was simply unlucky and was dragged down when the snowballing system of cheap loans and rising real estate prices they called the Spanish economic miracle collapsed, a period described in a\u00a0Time<\/i>\u00a0cover story titled \u00ab\u00a0Spain Rocks.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
A \u20ac150 Million Airport That’s Never Been Used<\/b><\/p>\n
I reach Castell\u00f3n, a somewhat sleepy coastal city on the Mediterranean, with a nice park and a phenomenally ugly department store.<\/p>\n
As a child, I liked Castell\u00f3n, the last place where we stopped to get gas before reaching our village. I’m here because I want to know why Castell\u00f3n built an airport from which no aircraft has ever taken off, an airport that cost \u20ac150 million in a city that’s only 65 kilometers from Valencia, which already has an airport that’s much too big for the region.<\/p>\n
I leave the Autopista del Mediterr\u00e1neo and drive along the CV-10 toward the Castell\u00f3n airport. The CV-10 is the best highway I’ve ever driven on. The asphalt is perfect, the signs are new, and there is grass in the median. After about half an hour, I’m standing in front of a fence arguing with a security guard. The man reaches for his radio and says: \u00ab\u00a0Serra 1 to Serra 2, we have a code 3!\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
You can trigger a code 3 by asking a guard at the fence whether you can take a look at the airport from up close, an airport that was built with taxpayer money and was officially opened on March 25, 2011.<\/p>\n
I get out of the car. Behind me is a large sculpture standing at the access road to the airport. A good friend of a local politician is still working on the piece, which is unbelievably ugly and reportedly cost \u20ac300,000. The guard talks into his radio. From where I’m standing, I can see the tower, some of the 3,000 parking spaces and a portion of the 2,700-meter (8,856-foot) runway.<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0I gave your license plate number to the police,\u00a0\u00bb says the guard. I nod and think to myself that the Castell\u00f3n airport isn’t even the most pointless — and certainly not the most costly — airport in Spain. An airport was built in Ciudad Real, 160 kilometers from Madrid, at a cost of \u20ac1 billion. It now serves small private aircraft.<\/p>\n
For years, Castell\u00f3n suffered from the fact that it wasn’t as important, rich or well-known as Valencia and Alicante, the other two major cities in the region. Someone hit upon the idea of changing that by building 17 golf courses. Seventeen 18-hole golf courses translate into a lot of golfers, hence the airport. The golf courses never materialized.<\/p>\n
The city behaved like a microcosm of Spain as a whole. Spain didn’t want to be Europe’s little brother. It wanted real airports and real highways. The days were gone when people like my father would arrive at a German train station in jackets too thin for the climate. The new Spain could play football, and it had companies like global telecommunications giant Telef\u00f3nica and world-famous chefs like Ferran Adri\u00e0.<\/p>\n
I leave the guard standing where he is and return to the highway. I’ll be in my parents’ village in three hours. A small detour takes me past a large construction site on which the Spanish railroad system is building another high-speed line. The country has more high-speed rail lines than Germany or France.<\/p>\n
I ask myself what it must have been like to be a politician in the boom years, a period of senseless intoxication and time without measure. To be re-elected, many politicians had to have something to show for themselves, a project, and preferably one built of stone and concrete. Playing fields, theaters, swimming pools and streetcars were popping up everywhere. The economy had gone mad, and so had politicians. But the democracy was fully functional. Spaniards could have asked where all the money was coming from, and why roads were improving and trains were getting faster, while their children were doing worse in school. They could have elected different politicians, more level-headed ones. I firmly believe that every village, every town and every province got exactly the politician it deserved.<\/p>\n
The Journey’s End<\/b><\/p>\n
I reach my parents’ village, Hu\u00e9rcal-Overa, now a city of 18,000 people in a province called Almer\u00eda. The area is known as the desert of Europe, dry and unbearably hot in the summer. The German director Bully Herbig filmed \u00ab\u00a0Der Schuh des Manitu,\u00a0\u00bb or the \u00ab\u00a0Manitou’s Shoe,\u00a0\u00bb a comedy remake of Germany’s Manitou series of Wild West films in Almer\u00eda. This is where my journey ends.<\/p>\n
We used to stay at my grandparents’ house a little outside of town. There was no toilet or electricity. That was in the 1980s. Today the city has a public theater, a new Plaza Mayor, an indoor public pool, a new outdoor pool, a zoo, a park, a newly designed downtown and rows of half-finished houses.<\/p>\n
My parents’ house is at the northern end of the city, a plain and somewhat ugly home. They put all of their savings into this 130-square-meter (1,400-square-foot) house. The only luxurious feature is an absurdly oversized air-conditioning unit on the roof, which can easily transform our living room into a polar landscape.<\/p>\n
I’ve asked my parents to call a few of my family members, so that they can tell me about their lives in Spain.<\/p>\n
My Uncle Juan has been working on a farm for 20 years. He plants tomatoes, walks through the greenhouses with fertilizer and works during the harvest. It’s a brutal job, but he’s never complained about it in my presence. Before the boom, he was making about \u20ac3 an hour, and now, about 10 years later, he still earns less than \u20ac4 an hour. He drove a small car before the crisis, and he still drives one today. Juan says that he didn’t need the crisis to know that he isn’t part of wealthy Europe. He just happens to be poor, he says, because he’s from the south.<\/p>\n
My cousin Pepe was a different story. As a teenager, he sold shoes at local weekly markets, and later French fries and peanuts. He eventually got a truck-driver’s license and tried his hand as an independent trucker. He would have become a gold prospector 150 years ago.<\/p>\n
Then came the boom years, the perfect time for people like Pepe, people who didn’t want to remain poor. At first he drove his own truck, and then he expanded to two, three and eventually eight or nine trucks. There was plenty of work, and he was constantly attracting new customers: a brewery, a auto-parts supplier, a wholesaler’s temporary warehouse. His wife gave him a black Audi A6 for his 40th birthday. I was invited to the party. They had made it. The house was paid off, they were driving a German car and their daughter had just started medical school.<\/p>\n
Pepe was one of the funniest people I know. No one could tell more dirty jokes. That Pepe no longer exists.<\/p>\n
My cousin is a sick man today. My father paid for his last treatment with a psychiatrist. Pepe doesn’t tell anyone in the family how much debt he has, but it must be millions, and we’ve all come to terms with the fact that he’ll never be debt-free again. His daughter, the medical student, works as a supermarket cashier. When I see him on the day after my arrival, he, my father and I have a coffee together. Pepe says only two words, \u00ab\u00a0hola\u00a0\u00bb and, at the end, \u00ab\u00a0adios.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
The crisis has changed him, and it’s changing Spain. Perhaps the country is recognizing that there are no shortcuts to Europe, and no clever tricks. Simply introducing a hard currency, building dozens of airports, rail lines and golf courses, and putting an A6 in every garage — that doesn’t work.<\/p>\n
Instead, the road is tedious and well-known. It starts with education, research and the fostering of entrepreneurs. The Spaniards can do all of this. They are a great people, my people, but the crisis has shown them where they stand: at the edge of Europe, not at its center. The real estate boom, cheap money and euphoria have seduced them — not because they are bad or lazy, but because they’re people.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan<\/i><\/p>\n
Article original<\/a> sur le site de Spiegel Online.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Spiegel Online | August 03, 2012 SPIEGEL reporter Juan Moreno grew up in Germany as the son of Spanish immigrants. He cherished summers spent as a child in his parents’ former village. He recently traveled back to his country of birth to trace the causes of the crisis and to meet those whose lives it […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[101],"class_list":["post-863","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-articles","tag-espagne"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/863","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=863"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/863\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":867,"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/863\/revisions\/867"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=863"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=863"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/bliss.pro\/fracture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=863"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}