Frente Nacional: Free from…the A-Team and Osama?

Sooo the first time I ever came across a piece of publicity from El Frente Nacional (The National Front) was almost two months ago on my way to my school.  My jaw dropped.  Partially because of the strongly nationalistic message, but mostly because of the ridiculously stereotyped caricatures that are so offensive you almost have to laugh.  The message on the poster reads: “Guess who’s last [in line]?  For your house, your job, your education and your health, if you’re Spanish, you should always be first.”

 

Madrid is a large city, and a large city in Europe, so there are tons of immigrants from all over the globe.  The large population of Latin Americans seems to have escaped mockery in this particular poster, but the Muslims, the Africans, the Romanians, and the Chinese were not so lucky.  The poor elderly Spanish man is being cruelly held back by…Osama bin Laden, some African guy who’s either part of the A-Team or running some heroin business in Africa while moonlighting in cheap remakes of old rap videos, the Romanian woman who wanders through the metro barefoot saying her back hurts and her baby’s hungry and she’s got twenty more in her shack and they’re all hungry too, and a jolly Chinese man with a serious FUPA (presumably a representation of the Chinese businessman that monopolizes the convenience store market—the Chinese are geniuses with their little convenience stores…seriously, they have EVERYTHING.  And for the record, in Madrid I have yet to see a Chinese man that fat).

There are nationalists and fascists and crazy people in Spain just like anywhere else, but I don’t know any Spaniard who approves.  It took way longer than it should have for the bank to take the posters down, but they’re all over town anyway…and only at banks.  It’s weird.

I finally got around to checking out their website today.  If you can read Spanish, take a look at their declaration and articles.  Even if you don’t read Spanish, you can kind of get the gist of what they’re saying.  I’ve translated some of their declaration:

El Frente Nacional is a collective party that … aims to unify people of every social class and political ideology, with the objective of building a large social movement that wins the support of Parliament, defending first and foremost the Spanish nation and the well-being of its national citizens.

El Frente Nacional does not endorse the political right, nor the political left … [and aims to] build a strong Europe—respecting the different national identities that compose it, including Russia and the Balkans—free from and independent of the Anglo-Saxon empire, promoting the model of a Patriotic Europe against the European model of globalization and savage capitalism.

It then goes on to talk about how El Frente Nacional is a solution to the moral cowardice and egoism of the current politicians and politics, the most interestingly worded example being “the political suicide of immigration”.  While their website describes them as being non-partisan, all-inclusive, and basically open to all things Spanish,  the other sources I find online describe the party as far-right.

Anyway, I’d be curious to hear your comments and/or questions.

Can’t sleep—spiders will eat me

As some of you know, I have some traumatic history with spiders and as a result have a serious aversion to them.  So this is one of my nightmares come true:

Yesterday’s Lessons and some other notes

• Beggars can be choosers!  (On the train to Aranjuez last Sunday, a seemingly homeless and presumably hungry lady was walking the length of the train over and over again begging for some food.  Nothing new in Madrid.  Back and forth, back and forth.  At one point she passed by again with what appeared to be an empty or nearly-empty box of Nature Valley Granola Bars.  The next time she came by it was gone.  Then, during her next visit, she started getting more specific.  None of this, “I’m hungry, could anyone give me some food or money for a sandwich,” but rather, “I’m hungry, I want something sweet, could someone give me something with a little sugar, or some chips.”  Finally an older man with an impressive combover got her attention and pulled a granola bar out of his pocket—so we know that he keeps granola bars in his pocket.  And, now it’s possible I’m wrong, but she stumbled away and Jake and I are pretty sure that she didn’t say “thank you”.)
• I’m not cut out to be a teacher for the rest of my life, at least not in primary or secondary schools.  I would not have the patience unless my students are perfectly behaved, which of course is a phenomenon that does not exist in this world.
• Some kids, sadly, are just dumb.
• Others are evil.
• And others, still, are awesome.
• I don’t like pan-fried hamburgers patties.
• But chorizo and other Spanish meats that before made me gag are slowly growing on me.
• When Spanish kids don’t want to swear by saying, “¡Hostia!”, they sometimes say, “¡Ostras!” (“Oysters!”), which is like saying, “Fudge!”

Also, here are some things I’ve noticed that have changed or advanced since the last time I lived here:

• Spanish kids—especially adolescents—are FATTER.  You can find them in droves at fast-food restaurants.
• Spain, or at least Madrid, has advanced technologically-more things available online, more people using email, every business has flatscreen TVs, people have more sophisticated cell phones, and Spanish television seems to have gotten better.
• I have noticed way more interaction between Spaniards and black people and Latin Americans.  
• When I lived here before I made it through the whole year without ever stepping in one of the billion piles of dog poop on the sidewalk (minus Paris, where I stepped in a heaping pile of fresh, steamy diarrhea)…this time I stepped in it the second day here.

On pride in my people and international congratulations

In a way, today I woke up a new person.  I think our country woke up a new country, too. 

Last night, here in Madrid, the Republican party celebrated the election at Hard Rock Cafe.  Their turnout was sad, especially after you saw footage of the Democratic turnout at the Círculo de Bellas Artes, where droves of Americans living here celebrated not only the election, but Obama’s win.  News media here have been covering the U.S. election more than their own news (not that that’s necessarily a good thing…), and last night the Daily Show-types were donning hats and buttons of the American flags, with balloons and confetti adorning their sets.  Americans paraded through the streets in the wee hours of the morning, cheering and waving American flags (it’s been a lonnnnggg time since people have felt comfortable doing THAT in Europe).  Not that we participated in any of this.  Real coverage of the results, given the time difference, didn’t even start until 11 or midnight, and I’m just kind of a wimp.  We got as much info as we could, went to bed, and turn on the TV at 8 this morning…

The TV lit up and we were greeted with footage of Obama’s acceptance speech.  I was surprised to feel my eyes well up and to feel my throat get choked up when I saw the thousands of people cheering and crying for Obama.  Shortly thereafter, I had to leave for school.  While, as I just wrote yesterday, I don’t really care anymore if people can tell I’m foreign/American, that doesn’t mean that I try to stick out or that I prefer to be outed as opposed to being able to pass as Spanish or European.  But today, I looked down at my outfit of CK jeans and my North Face fleece, momentarily flinched at how American I looked, and then remembered what day it was.  I actually was happy, and hoped that people pegged me as an American.  I’ve never been a super-patriot.  I love my country, but that’s usually as far as it goes.  Patriotism in America has a tendency to pick up little earmarks (in the spirit of politics!) along its path so that it comes with nationalism, unwarranted feelings of superiority, and either isolationism or obnoxious mettling.  I’ve certainly never wanted to parade around the streets of Europe as an American, and I’ve rarely been proud of the voting records of my fellow Americans as a whole.  In fact, in 2001 (pre-9/11) in France for a skating competition in which we were representing the U.S., we were specifically told never to wear our U.S.A. uniforms outside the ice rink.

But as an American abroad where I’m missing out on the American experience of Obama’s election but experiencing Europe’s reaction, let me tell you that our esteem in the world has just shot up a gazillion points.  I have literally, literally been CONGRATULATED all day long.  Congratulated.  For a presidential election?  Yep.  So many Europeans and citizens of the rest of the world who don’t have intimate knowledge of the U.S. were so baffled after G.W. was nominated in 2004 (along with about 50% of voting Americans), and I can’t describe to you the excitement here.  Obviously not every Spaniard cares about our politics or our elections, particularly since Spain’s economy is also in the dump and unemployment and mortgage crises are skyrocketing just like back home, but the excitement is palpable.  The cafeteria during recess with my colleagues was buzzing.  All day, when I hear snippets of people’s conversations, in a variety of languanges (one of the perks of living in a major metropolitan area, particularly in Europe), I keep hearing the name “Obama” pop out of people’s mouths.  Even my little third graders talk about Obama.

So, I think I woke up a different person.  In one night, the veil of shame that a lot of us Americans abroad wear has been lifted.  Anti-American sentiment certainly doesn’t disappear overnight, but I no longer feel the urge to tell strangers that I’m from Canada, lest my cab driver refuse to take me home or the old man on the street go into a rant about how Americans at the embassy are taking up the whole sidewalk (that last one actually happened).  And I think the U.S. woke up a different country, too.  I’m sure I’m only one of 8 billion blogs saying this same thing right now, but for the first time in my life, I feel really proud to be American.

An ex-pat’s thoughts while we still don’t have stupid Internet at our apartment…

I’m currently sitting at a school computer during my free hour, on America’s election day (although back home it’s only 5:30 in the morning)…

Those of you who know me know that my boyfriend and I have recently moved back to Madrid, Spain as teaching assistants in Spanish-English bilingual schools.  We arrived September 17th, and promptly found a fabulous little studio apartment in a wonderful neighborhood.  The only annoying thing is that we still don’t have Internet hooked up because there is a lot of red tape in Spain and no one here is ever in a hurry to do anything.  I have all these things I want to write about, but in the meantime, here are some golden nuggets of ex-pat wisdom/neuroses:

Although I was supremely ready to get out of the States again, I was suprised to find upon arriving and settling in that I feel much more nostalgia and a much deeper appreciation for home than I did before.  When I came here to study, not only had I been anticipating the trip for years, but I also viewed the experience as a rite of passage, a time when you’re supposed to be thrust out of your element, you’re supposed to spend a whole year far away from your friends and family, a time when if you ever feel homesick, it’s normal, necessary, and it will pass. 

I was also obsessed with fitting in in Spain, with passing for a Spaniard.  I had a good accent and a good grasp of the language, but I was always afraid to talk for fear of being outed as a foreigner.  Sometimes Madrid’s people seemed cold, but I’d read that about Madrid and I could further attribute it to the common attitude of a major metropolitan area.  My head was always filled with the many things about Spain and Europe that made them so much better than the United States—I sometimes struggled to see anything good about my home country.  I missed my friends and family, but I would have preferred that they come to Spain rather than me having to go home.  At the end of the year, Jake and almost all my friends had gone and I felt ready to leave, primarily out of loneliness (I hadn’t succeeded in making a bunch of Spanish or European friends like I’d hoped).  But even then, when the plane back to Chicago was preparing to land, I gripped the armrests tightly and said under my breath, “No no no no no, I’m not ready,” for about twenty minutes.

I wrote in a previous post, after taking a vacation to Madrid to visit some friends, that I’d gotten a taste of a matured appreciation for the U.S. and that, even after a year and a half of being out of Spain, I immediately felt more comfortable than I had my entire year here as a student.  Now, after being back here for just over a month, I’ve started to feel that in its entirety.  I don’t think I can pinpoint any reason, just that having two years in between stays here has allowed me to fully digest everything from the time before, so that now I’m much more content.  People seem so much friendlier, easier to understand, and more willing to talk to me.  But I don’t think people here have changed much (other than random things that I will write about it my next post).  Rather, I think it’s me.  I no longer care about sticking out as a foreigner or as an American.  I don’t mind wearing a Wisconsin sweatshirt around town that makes it obvious I’m American.  I’m way more comfortable talking to people in Spanish, which makes me speak better, it makes it easier to understand them when they talk to me, and I seriously must have had some real cold demeanor or something last time because all of the sudden everyone’s way nicer to me than they were before.  No one likes making grammatical errors, but I don’t really care anymore and am happy to be corrected.  It’s a much more comfortable lifestyle, believe me.  I can even see the good sides of being a foreigner, and being tagged as a foreigner.

This newfound comfort, however, comes with something that is both valuable and difficult.  As much as I complain about the United States, I find myself thinking about it often.  (I can’t emphasize enough how I never, never daydreamed about home when I studied here, even during the rough spots.)  As much as I complained about Indiana and Fort Wayne, I had a great job, great friends and family (Jake’s friends and family), and find myself daydreaming about weekends in Columbia City and walking around downtown.  I think about Ann Arbor and my parents and my dog, my dearly departed cat, the coziness of my parents’ house at Christmas time (there’s something that happens when you grow up—you start saying “my parents’ house” instead of “my house”, and you realize you’re an adult and it’s both liberating and sad).  It’s been a long time since my enthusiasm for Halloween dissipated (Madison excluded), but yesterday talking to my mom about Halloween (it’s her favorite holiday), I even got nostalgic for that.  I also daydream about Chipotle.

I think that in part it’s because this time, officially, I am here as a representative of my language and culture, and my job is to talk about it and compare and contrast it to the culture of my students and colleagues.  This has gotten me to think more about all the good things about our culture and lifestyles in the U.S., as opposed to just the bad things.  This time I have more foreign friends to talk to, I am immersed in a good window into a foreign culture—schools—and therefore get to see lots of things that I find disagreeable compared to how things are in the U.S. (things aside from the annoying red tape…something in which I was already well versed).

This time it’s not a rite of passage.  It’s a job.  A great job, but a job.  Jake and I wanted to come back, and this was a way to do it.  We’ll have to deal with taxes and being poor and loan deferments.  This time around we have to take care of legal and technical stuff by ourselves.  Unless we end up homeless beggars, there will never be a time where it’s not a little bit romantic to be foreigners in Spain, Americans in Europe, but this time around life is much more normal.  We’ll go home in the summer to hang out with friends and family, and I believe I will, for the first time ever, be consciously happy to be spending time back in the States.  Not that I’m eager to go back, just that I’m happy to be here and I’m happy to be there.  They’re both wonderful.