Monday, April 2, 2012

In Which I Find Myself Protesting

I found myself getting roped into a (what turned into a very peaceful) protest march Thursday morning...

My day began with this. See that lovely mint green building in the background? Yeah, that's where I live.

The smoke I smelled upon waking up in the morning turned out to be from a plastic dumpster -- previously filled with paper -- that had been set on fire. There were lots of (young, cute) policemen hanging around looking important, but also a bit nervous. This was strike day, everyone knew it, and apparently things were beginning like the peaceful-turned-not-so-peaceful protests in Valencia and Barcelona from earlier in the year.

Later that morning my friend Sheila texted me saying she was coming to the protest, and asked if I wanted to meet up for a visit before she went to the gathering at the ministry building. I hadn't seen her in a while, so I went, thinking we would just chat for a bit. Until she told me that, should I ever want to stay in her cute new apartment when I visit, I should go to the march. So I thought about it, and decided to go.

First thing in the morning, picketers were posted outside various ministry buildings and factories. At mid-day there was the march "in defense of public education", and later in the evening there was a more labor-oriented protest, that ended up gathering about 80,000 people, making it the biggest protest march in Santander's history. There were some scuffles between picketers and ministry workers, and some more violence during the major afternoon protest. But the march for education was totally peaceful: teachers, parents, and students, walking through the city. There was some yelling and some noise cannons, but mostly there was lots of camaraderie, and everyone seemed to know everyone else there. I think I ran in to about 85% of the people I've met here in the last four years. The afternoon protest, though, did get more violent (it even made the BBC!) .  I stayed in my little attic home for that one, and listened to the noise cannons from far away. "Violent" meaning there was lots of pushing and yelling. In Torrelavega, where I work, a lady got slashed with a big ol' knife -- wielded by a hotel owner with a history of assault. It was not as violent as it could have been, by any means; but neither was it as peaceful as it could have been.

At first I felt funny about going to a protest in a country that's not my own; hell, I probably wouldn't even go to one in the US. But then I got to thinking about what happened to me back in October. Turns out, I am directly affected by all these education reforms. At the moment I have no visa and no health insurance because of the new government. But that's not the only reason I went. I love this place, this city, the people I've become close to here. Most of my friends are teachers; I adore my students in private classes, the academy, and the school where I used to work. These reforms will affect them every day for the rest of their academic lives. The reforms will affect my teacher friends for the rest of their working lives. The Spanish use the word solidarity a lot more than we do; I think it's something that should be incorporated more fully into the American vocabulary. So that's why I went: for my own rights, but also, and I think, more importantly, for the rights of the people I love here who I think are being treated unfairly.

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