Politics have been a part of my life all the way back to my birth. I was born in NY to Salvadoran parents who fled the turmoil, economic instability and, most importantly, the civil war which ravaged our country for twelve years. As long as I can remember my parents, in particular my dad, are the staunchest liberals with leftist ideals.
The contrast, of course, comes with growing up in the US and, specifically, New York City. New York is not a city for the faint of heart, for the lazy, for the lackadaisical (though that's not to say that they don't also inhabit our city. The Rotten Apple is known for ambition, creativity, the hustle; you betta make moves if you wanna get ahead, getting by ain't an option. Ambition, that most prized quality of capitalism, the force that fuels the American dream, I've always found problematic. Why do we need to work? Why do we need to spend 40 hours of our work week slaving away to increase someone else's dividends?
I think of my cousin (you can guess which one), with his single-mindedness that I could never attain. (I won't go into detail but let's just say there were many projects that skewed the line of legality.) I remember when he had this idea to buy cartons of Newport cigarettes from a contact in Chinatown, then sell them either by the pack or as looseys (the street term for a loose cigarette). We paraded up and down 3rd Ave, 2nd Ave and parts of Alphabet City looking for customers as they smoked their cigs outside East Village bars, the patrons laughing at our poor choice of product (if you didn't know, Newports are commonly known as a "ghetto" brand, most people opt for Marlboro, Marlboro Lights or Camels). We sold maybe a few packs that night and, with our tails tucked between our legs, returned home. Next time we figured that a ghetto neighborhood would make more sense, so we walked up and down Jamaica Ave peddling our contraband. This was only one of my cousin's ideas and, admittedly, one of the few failures.
Compare that with Madrid and Europe in general. In my first year in Madrid, and the place where I met Armelle, my wife, I started going to a place called La Tabacalera (the cigar or tobacco factory, more or less). La Tabacalera is a self-run, community center in the heart of Madrid near Embajadores in the neighborhood of Lavapies. It's a magical place and holds a dear place in my heart for many reasons. What is it? It was a former factory that was abandoned and in ruins. Around 2008, or maybe before, I'm not sure, many Spaniards felt indignant about the economic situation in the country. Many decided to organize and form collectives to provide what the government was no longer (seemingly) able to. These people, this movement, became known as Los Indignados (The Indignent) and gained small footholds all across the nation. These footholds were the community centers that sprung up, people went in together, occupied an abandoned building, made the necessary renovations and began offering services to local denizens. At a place like La Tabacalera you can take all sorts of classes, salsa, capoeira, English and many more. They have a bike repair workshop, a welding workshop, a slew of rehearsal studios in the basement, murals that adorn nearly every square centimeter of surface area from noted street artists and graffiti artists and host monthly events. Oh, and they have an art gallery, like a proper art gallery. La Tabacalera is the exception because it's no longer simply a squat, it's recognized by the local government and therefore not subject to police incursions or eviction notices.
After I began going to La Tabacalera, initially because they offered free salsa classes, that's how my American mind understood, I started going to some of the other centers. I went to Patio Maravillas in its heyday and it was there that I became more active in the structure of the centers. First, i helped when the salsa collective, called Salsearte, would need participants to do bar-duty at the bar / cafe at the center. Then I started attending the monthly meetings and, when the news came that the Communidad de Madrid (the city hall) was going to start a process of eviction, I began to help out in any way I could, sometimes simply going to the meetings and learning more. What I learned is that these centers, generally speaking, aren't inherently heirarchical (though a structure does exist). In fact, in most cases it resembles an anarchic ideal without ever strictly conforming to it. Basically put, there are no elected officials. There are no leaders that are there because they were given a post. You go, you listen, you comment and when it's time to put something to a vote, you vote.
As a kid coming from NY, it boggled my mind. "How is this possible? This could never last in my hometown ... why don't we have this back home?" I wrestled with these questions the same way I've been wrestling with my very nature. Lately, as I begin to expand my network of friends, acquaintances, colleagues and contacts, I've been thinking about starting a B-boying / B-girling class. I already started a writing workshop, to mild success (though greatly successful as a personal achievement), and have been thinking that it might be time to do something with breaking. With breaking I always felt I got more out of it as a teacher than as a b-boy; I'm a decent dancer but I'm really good at teaching (at least I'd like to think so). What used to hold me back is this idea that I'm good at this, why would I just give it away for free? Why not make some money off it?
There's a famous quote from Rockefeller or Carnegie or one of those dead fat cats that says (I'm paraphrasing), never do something for free if you're good at it. Maybe that makes sense back home, in the bustling, concrete confines of Gotham's metropolis, but today it's a new day, a new approach and a new country. And, maybe, this requires a new Larry to see it through.
