Dominican or Brazilian?

That’s what a group of women yelled to me on our last walk around Sevilla. They were a group of Dominican women working as contracted maids in Spain. The Dominican and Spainish government have had this deal going for years where both governments in the spirit of international cooperation facilitate the exploitation of female Dominican labor by middle-class Spainish families. As immigration schemes go, this one is not that bad. As they explained after two years of near slavery they get that much-coveted visa and are “free” to work elsewhere for shit wages. Talking to them, even if ever so briefly was a nice trip back down to Earth. After being a white man in Senegal for four months and spending a week in Spain, doing the hostel circuit hanging with other privileged young people from North America, Australia and Western Europe I had forgotten that I am Dominican and we have it rough in this world.

The irony of all of this is that not until too long ago, Spain was a net exporter of people. And now they are all pissed about immigration with right-wing idiots holding protests claiming that Spain is Catholic, not Muslim (never mind that the Muslims in Spain achieved heights of civilization never matched by the Catholics, and that they built most of the impressive shit which drives Spain’s tourism industry). In 1933, political upheaval brought a new government to Cuba which rescinded the imperialist Platt Amendment and also passed a new law restricting how many foreign workers could be employed by Cuban companies. The law targeted the numerous Spainish who had immigrated to Cuba, and now just a lifetime later Cubans pray, beg and hustle to make it to Spain. Spain is actually one of the few countries that has become a First World, certified-developed country under neoliberal hegemony (mostly through tons of EU development aid, none of that free trade and foreign development non-sense they preach to non-white countries, and it’s still not as rich as the EU15 average). It’s prize? It now has its own seat in the global exploitation game.

Development

I hate saying it, but it was just nice to be in a “developed” country. First of all, I regained my anonymity. I was no longer getting constantly approached by vendors and beggars (there were many fewer of those). I was just another face on the metro. And the metro, lord do I miss clean, efficient, reliable, modern, affordable public transportation. There was no need to negotiate the price of my metro ticket, no waxale (Wolof for bargaining), just buy it, wait a few minutes and get on the train. Tracey was saying that the metro system in Madrid was not as fast and clean as others in Europe, but it was the best subway system I have ever used in my life. She needs to come to NYC where every day you see rats the size of small children, can cut through the layers of grime on station walls and dig like an archeologist for clues of a previous civilization and where every New Yorker is a champion at the “hear the rumbling, leap to the edge and tilt your head to the point of losing balance to avoid all of the other heads doing the same thing, just to see if the train is coming game.” At least in Madrid (like in DC) they are nice enough to tell you the train is coming. Beyond the metro, there were some of the other advantages of overdevelopment like cultural diversity, and cleanliness. Then, of course, it was nice to be in a country where I could speak the language and where people knew where I was from, so that rather than getting the dumb stares I usually get when I say La Republique Dominicaine, I got affirming looks when saying La Republica Dominicana. Even if all they did know was the beaches, still it was nice.