What Barack Obama means to me

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I am usually a cynic, so forgive my indulgence of my alter ego optimism for a minute. I guess I just hadn't fully considered how I would feel with the election over and my preferred candidate since the moment he ran, Barack Obama, elected president. I have followed his career since the 2004 Democratic Convention where he gave the first of many incredible speeches on a national scale. Soon after he declared he would run for president in Springfield, Illinois, I donated to his campaign. As a political junkie born in Washington, DC, I have always followed politics, local and national, and I followed this race very closely for almost the entirety of the campaign. I remember the whole process, just about, in the words of various op-eds, blogs, pundits, and the like. What I do not remember is at what point I turned off the emotion, or at least, when my feeling became one of detached observance.

But right now, a few days after the election, I am fully coming to terms with what this election means. It is truly an incredible moment in human history. As a commentator on the MSNBC election night broadcast noted, this was not only an incredible moment, but an incredible moment that we chose to embrace, making it all the sweeter. In my years on this earth, there has not been a moment quite like this one. There was 9/11, which struck fear in the hearts of the population, and the Iraq war, a war of choice that really wasn't our choice. Those were big moments. But there is something truly special about the democratic process, that moment when the people's voice is definitively heard, that makes this extra special, especially when it is fully heard as rejected fear and choosing progress, hope, and change. Too often, despite the power vested in we, the people, by our system, we give in to the tyranny of the possible, the unfeeling coldness of the reality of living in an imperfect world. We rarely encounter the extraordinary, and the march of progress throughout history has served to weaken our sense of wonder and decrease the likelihood of encountering it. But that only makes this moment all the greater.

I am twenty years old. I can honestly say that despite much to be thankful for, my life has increased in difficulty and decreased in happiness the longer I live. I have had it very tough emotionally in my relationship with my family, something I am slowly coming to terms with on my own terms, a very difficult process in itself. As the economy slowed under Bush and the strain on middle class families increased, we ran into financial difficulties that piled on top of each other until the pain, the burden, the strain of looking each other in the eyes was too much to bear sometimes. I've always been hyperaware of financial issues in my family since I was young, and the stress of carrying them, and just how difficult it is to stay afloat in a sea that is rising so rapidly it threatens to drown you. And the sea makes no bones about the losses it causes. Its hard to see inspiration when you are in that position. It just seems so far away, that the easiest thing to do is retreat. "Cling" to something, if you will. At a certain distance from happiness, hope is a burdensome weight that is the first thing to be thrown overboard to save a sinking ship.

But this moment right here. This is something I will hold onto. In his acceptance speech, Barack said, "For those who doubt...doubt no more." Coming from him, with his story and his words, those were powerful words that resonated with me. Well Barack, I can doubt no longer. I believe. Not necessarily in you, though I like you, don't get me wrong. But you know the score, because you said it yourself, time and again. This election was not about you, despite Senator McCain's best attempts. This is about us. This is about the strength and resilience of America, of the idea of America. This is about our willingness to believe in ourselves. You offered us that chance, to make this a referendum on believing in ourselves, and not only did we choose to challenge ourselves in the primary, we passed that challenge on November 4th. This is sweet, sweet victory, a rare, fresh, wild something to be savored like few things in life. I have seen inspiration in a few places. One of the most inspiring quotes I have heard is from Dr. King, who said "The arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice." But it was not until we reached this moment that I felt the truth of that statement. I have had my faith in America vindicated at a time when it was vitally important that we regain that faith. This is one aspect of the story regarding the youth movement that carried Obama to victory that is missed by those who talk about it. This is the opposite of Chicago '68, where so many dreams died. As a generation we have witnessed the power of our collective action. We are a generation of facebookers and youtube and getting together to do something about the problems that face us, the hip hop generation. I have never been prouder of my generation then now.

I am sad that many of my heroes could not be here today to witness this, because it confirms so much that they exhibited in their character that exemplified the greatness of America, and have taught me much. Martin Luther King, JFK and RFK, writers like Hunter S. Thompson and Kurt Vonnegut, Ella Baker. Many more. I wish they were alive to see this, if only to restore some fundamental sense of hope that they famously yearned for and persisted in asserting the existence of at the heart of the American soul. There are too few heroes in this world, and it seems they always leave us before we reach the promised land, reenacting the biblical stories over and over. Perhaps Aaron Eckhart's line in The Dark Knight is correct, "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Perhaps. But for me, a hero is someone who has left an indelible mark on my person, on my soul, who has affected the course of my development in an important way. They don't need to be held up as gods or cast as villains. My sister is my hero. My girlfriend is my hero. Those mentioned previously are my heroes, as is Barack Obama. None are perfect but I would not be the same without them. But I must say that my greatest hero is you, you being the American people who made this happen. We must look to ourselves in the future to save ourselves. Only we are worthy of our trust, not any politician, including Obama. We must not let up in our quest for justice and equality, as represented by their ideal forms. We may not get their in our life time, but we can achieve great things as long as we keep our eyes on the prize. We must aim for the moon and content ourselves with landing among the stars if we must, the path of human existence it seems. But we can do this. Yes, we can.

I have burned slowly throughout my life, full of a kind of detached anger that led me through many dark alleys and false exits of the mind. That feeling scares me, has led me to fear and reject anything that would force me to confront it until very recently. I have begun to embrace that part of me, to learn to direct it, but it is a slow process, too slow for my liking. This moment though....I have obsessively accounted for the presence of the real in my life. I have become keenly aware of the reality of the emotions that I feel, as a result of the detachment that I have felt. Very few moments qualify...but this definitely qualifies. This is real, I can feel it, and if *I* can feel it, you know it must be real. I don't know where we go from here, but I am looking forward to finding out.

We've got work to do. Let's get to it.

Neoliberalism comes to Europe

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I study abroad in Madrid, Spain, at the Universidad Complutense de Madrid, where I take classes for American students as well as some classes for general students in the Facultad de Politicas y Sociologias (Political Science and Sociology). I went to my regular 13:00 class, sat down outside the classroom on the 4rd floor and waited for the teacher to show up. I started hearing shouting from somewhere, and went to the middle of the hallway and looked down the opening to the main floor and saw about 200 students marching down the hallway. Students started flooding out of classrooms as the march went from one end of the building to the other, climbing the stairs and going back, until finally there were probably 4-500 students right in front of me. Turned out I was standing right next to the bossman's office. The students were chanting stuff like "Fuera la policia!" and "policia nacional!" and a bunch of other stuff I couldn't catch, but they were jumping up and down and having fun so pretty soon I was shouting too. Why not? A big guy was pounding on the door with his motorcycle helmet and people were cheering, but after a bit no one was coming out, so rather then lose energy they marched outside to the parking lot and left me there.

I saw some people from my class and asked them what the heck that was all about. Turns out it was about the "Plan de Bolonia" or the Bologna process. This refers to an agreement by the Education Ministers of the European Union in Bologna, Italy in 1999. The stated goals of this process are academic reforms, such as simplifying the transfer of credit between European universities by creating the European Credit Transfer System, universalizing the equivalent of the undergraduate and graduate degree system in America, and doing away with a somewhat confusing degree system now whereby some degrees that require 3 years of training would have the same title as 5 years, and other essentially technical details regarding curriculum.* The end goal would be to improve European higher education "competitiveness" and standing in the world's education systems.

It all sounds pretty innocuous, and you are probably wondering why Spanish students are so crazy at this point. Well there are other things being imposed on European institutions of higher education that give one pause. The plan calls for reduced public spending on education, which forces institutions to recapitalize, most likely through tuition fees or investment in private companies. Most European universities are very cheap, practically free. One student I talked to after the protest said that he pays 1000 euros for the year, or roughly 1300-1400 dollars in today's ever fluctuating dollar-euro conversion. If Bolonia were implemented, this student probably wouldn't be able to afford to attend.

The academic reforms pose a number of problems within themselves, as well. By condensing curriculum into more hours and less semesters of study, and requiring more hours of credit per semester, it would make it very difficult for students to work and study at the same time, meaning only students with access to the necessary money beforehand would be able to go to school, and coupled with the tuition increases, this would be more closely in line with how the system works in the US, where university attendence is heavily skewed towards the well off and elite, and where "first generation college student" is still rare and impressive enough to be praised (perhaps why the plan is derided as the "Americanization" of the higher education system). The fiercest critics here deride the plan as concentrating the knowledge economy in the already well off classes.

But the main sticking point in all this is the "corporatization" of the universities. There are a few issues here. The first is that the academic reforms would be made with an eye towards corporatizing the curriculum, or reducing a major to its core components to essentially create corporate workers. This would be accomplished by placing curriculum requirements in the hands of the government, who could set credit requirements and eliminate departments or studies as it sees fit. Ironically this represents the great fear of the American left AND right, by giving power to corporations and government. Don't you love it when political opposites can come together? Critics here in Europe say that it would turn institutes of higher learning, which are supposed to be about the learning aspect, would instead become 'diploma mills' that are simply creating workers (squarely a leftist critique). The corporate aspect of this comes from a report done in 1995 by a leading European industrialists lobbying group. Money quote:

The ERT hopes that adding the practical vision of the company to the well-documented opinions of specialists in this field, can help bring about the urgent changes that, in our view, require the current education systems in Europe.

(translated from Spanish) Essentially, critics see this the corporations using government to turn the university system into a sort of farm system for their interests. Americanization, indeed. There are some legitimate good things in this plan, I believe. It would expand on the current exchange program run by the EU, Erasmus, by creating the credit exchange program. This can only lead to increased cooperation among universities. And a similar degree system to the rest of the world would let European students more easily market themselves on the open market. But the attempt to slip in privatization reforms is a classic neoliberal policy a la the World Bank and certain American corporate interests, which I want to get into in later posts, but for now I will say that the protest I was thrust into is a part of the larger 'anti-globalization' movement, which is really an anti-neoliberalism movement. For more on this, read The Shock Doctrine, Naomi Klein's bible on the rise of "Disaster Capitalism" and the neoliberal takeover.

And the protests are going on all over the world, not just my little corner. This blog posting lists examples of the global protests at schools around the world. One that was in the news here recently was in Italy.

29/10/2008 Protests across Italy continue. Up to 50.000 people protested on the Piazza Navona (Rome) alone. During the protest fascists tried to lead the demonstration, which resulted in clashes. A few students were injured and 20 of them arrested. Twelve schools are being currently occupied by students in Rome alone and more than 150 + 20 faculties across the country. In Milan students clashed with police forces. Acording to the ministry of internal affairs more than 300 demonstrations took place in Italy since Oct.1st. In Naples students occupied the central train station. A general strike is planned for tomorrow. (corriere.it, uniriot.org [for more pictures and clips; in Italian])

Students are riled up on this, as you can see from the many examples at that website. The reason the students here were chanting "Fuera la policia!" or "Kick out the police" was because a similar protest last week in Barcelona ended in the arrest of 30 students by police on campus, and students here aren't exactly thrilled at police intruding on their campus.**

More to come, including a comparision to American schools, more on neoliberalism, and how I ended up getting interviewed after the protest(!).

*Update: I got this wrong. The curriculum changes are more substantial then 'technical', according to a professor at UCM. Not only would the curriculum become more 'corporatized' but the basic requirements for many majors would be substantially changed. According to this professor, students would have to obtain training in subjects that bear no relation to their career goals, deriding it as making "law students learn about gardening and architecture students learn about changing tires." Indeed. Which is as American as college football, when you think about it
**Update: Turns out, students last week were officially charged with crimes for initiating a protest at Universitaria Autonoma de Barcelona last March. The story is here (in Spanish).

Harsh Lessons

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This is a story I wrote for my Humanities class last semester. It is the first story I have written for a class in this manner, so any feedback is appreciated. I found the process of writing it fun, so I plan on putting another story up at some point.

***5:30 PM, A bar outside Miramar Free Trade Zone (FTZ), El Salvador

Alex DeLoya looked over the bar of the rundown tienda just in time to see the deputy Undersecretary of the Treasury for international monetary policy appear in the door, Blackberry attached to the ear and a sycophantic tone in his voice, something Alex later realized that he only noted because it was so different from how the man usually sounded. Before he could note anything else though, he realized his exposed position and ducked down behind the bar just as the Undersecretary glanced his way. He strained, but over the low din of the old men playing dominos and drinking Mexican beer, he could only catch snippets of what the man was saying over the phone.

“…no reason for you to call while I am in country….I don’t believe the operation is in jeopardy...absolutely not, the old fool won’t see anything…”

Alex lay low, but he was starting to draw odd looks from some of the patrons, and he really didn’t want to draw attention to himself while the Undersecretary was there. Luckily, as he started to peek over the bar, Alex saw him leaving. Alex stood up and left quickly, putting his sunglasses on as the merciless sun, that same sun worshipped by the ancient Incans, beat down on him. He wanted to hear more of the conversation.

Foreign policy legislative assistant to a prominent US Senator at just 25, a smart, ambitious man with an Ivy League degree and an idealist’s heart coupled with a practical mind, Alex was one of the best his generation had to offer. A Latino of Salvadoran descent, Alex had grown up the 4^th of 7 children in the urban ethnic enclave of Woodbridge, Virginia. His father was a bus driver for 30 years, and his mother had worked two jobs, cleaning motel rooms by day and as an ‘independent domestic services provider’, as his mother loved to joke when she would come home at night from cleaning another mansion in McLean. Alex’s was not just the quintessential American Dream story, but the Hollywood version of it. His mother had cleaned for the same Senator that Alex now worked for, a fact he was extremely proud of.

Now he was trying to draw on all the knowledge he ever gleaned from James Bond movies as he tried to stealthily follow the Undersecretary down the street. He caught more bits and pieces of the conversation: “Phil, you know that my team is on board…..….…yes……..no………..under control”

Alex didn’t know what to make of this shift in tone by the Undersecretary, who previously had been very authoritative, as if he was the appointed ambassador from America to the whole world, and not just some careerist government employee. Alex thought he had a particularly cruel mean streak, but the Senator had informed Alex it was just a personal defect.

“Nino won’t like this, Phil…I know, but you have to play these things out carefully…fine, fine. I’ll handle it…”

Down in El Salvador as part of a congressional junket with the Senator, the Undersecretary had been part of the group, along with the Senator’s aides and some prominent businessmen who had dealings with this particular free trade zone and its notorious leader –

Suddenly the Undersecretary whirled around. Alex hadn’t been careful enough and was caught exposed in the open. The man stepped forward with alacrity, grabbed Alex by the shoulders, and pushed him up against a concrete wall. “Just what do you think you are doing, following me around young man?” the Undersecretary asked Alex, acidly. He managed to make “young man” sound like a crime.

Alex hadn’t made it out of the barrio by being slow. He thought fast and came up with, “Sir, uh, Senator Allen just sent me along to find you. He was worried you might have gotten lost and not been able to find your way back….”

“I know my god damn way around here, do you know how many times-!” the Undersecretary shouted, but he stopped short, as if loath to admit some fact he did not have to. He seemed a classic tightwad in that sense, like a government agent or New Yorker. He took a look at his phone. “Its 5:45. The group is not supposed to leave for Señor Sevilla’s hacienda until 7. Well?” he said, expectantly.

Alex hated being mistaken for an intern, or an assistant, or some other job low on the totem pole, but due to his early age and youthful nature, it happened often, and in this case it was not as far from the truth as he would have liked to admit. “Sir, I’m just following orders, I don’t know why…”

“Oh alright, fine. Come on then, let’s get back to the group.” As they walked on dusty back alley paths behind factories and mills, he pushed unmute on his Blackberry, put it to his ear and said, “Mr. Knight, everything’s under control. I’ll text you when we’re feet wet…That’s right. Keep your phone on.” He put the phone in his pocket, and then, as if he hadn’t taken his thoughts off Alex’s silent activity for a second, said out the corner of his mouth, “Besides, Senator Allen will be able to confirm that for me, right?” He turned his head and winked, causing Alex’s stomach to flutter and tie itself in knots, but he tried not to betray that.

“Why of course, Mr. Undersecretary. Hey, was that Phil Knight? CEO of Nike? Don’t they have a bunch of factories here?” Alex had been a solid second baseman for his college baseball team, batting leadoff and getting a lot of singles, but he had no problem swinging for the fences when the situation called for it. He was rewarded with the look on the Undersecretary’s face, one of flush red cheeks and wide eyed surprise, but he managed to get the mask back on quickly.

“Think you’re pretty fucking clever, huh? Mind your own fucking business. Fucking kids, Jesus Christ. Come on, I see the group now. Let’s see what Senator Allen has to say,” said the Undersecretary with a smirk. They approached the group from behind a fancy office building for the gringo businessmen who worked for the big international concerns that did business here. The street here was newly paved and had nice grassy areas with trees and walkways, like a business park or main street back home, Alex thought. “Hey, wait up! Senator, did you know this young man,” shouted the Undersecretary as he strode boldly towards the group (always with the acid “young man”, Alex couldn’t help remembering), drawing the attention of the whole group to Alex, “was wondering around the back alleys of this place?”

The Senator walked with his staff, the other businessmen from the States, bodyguards provided by Miramar security, and a tour guide, one of Señor Sevilla’s personal aides, who Alex hadn’t seen before. There was only one person he was concerned with though – the Senator himself, who could save Alex or condemn him with his next few words. Luckily for Alex, the Senator was a mainstay of the Washington establishment, currently serving his fifth term, and knew how to play the game, despite not always understanding it. The Senator took a hard look at Alex (“please please please” written all over his face), and, without moving his eyes away, replied coldly, “Mr. Undersecretary, we are on a timetable here, and I cannot be everywhere at once. My staff often serves as my eyes and ears where I cannot personally be. Seeing as how we are in a hurry, we can do without any more interruptions, if you please?”

Alex wanted to shout with joy, but he kept quiet. For the second time, he was glad to see an embarrassed look on the Undersecretary’s face. He knew that despite bailing him out in public, Senator Allen would grill him in private later. For now though, the group took this as a cue to continue listening to the tour guide, who resumed his somewhat monotonous information session. “Over here, you’ll see the newest office building, finished 3 months ago, with a recreation center and a gym….” Alex didn’t pay attention though; just fell in behind the rest of the group, alone with his thoughts. He had snuck away from the tour group earlier and seen things he wished he now hadn’t. Stone faced and staring at nothing in particular, he pondered different events in his life that had led him to this point.

*** 6 years earlier, Economics 230, Columbia University

Alex Deloya was a sophomore economics major, taking copious notes. He worked hard in all his classes, but especially in this class. Everyone always told him that economics was the most important major out there right now. How else do you explain history, his friends would often point out. He agreed with them, and spent hours poring over textbooks for his major. He knew that he would have to work hard to make good on his dream of returning to his familial home of El Salvador to help people help themselves. His mother often spoke of her sisters who worked in the new maquiladora in San Marcos, and how her nephew had been sent to the US for an education, thanks to the generosity of the factory owner. He listened as the professor wrapped up for the day.

“…And so we see that on this graph, the marginal rate of demand goes up, decreasing marginal rate of cost. In today’s globalized market, this is a common situation. Free trade has lowered barriers, allowing companies to spread profits around more, which has been a benefit to the global economy,” the professor was saying. “And that’s about all the time we have today, folks. Don’t forget, the Economics department is sponsoring a speaker tonight. He’s a former World Bank official, is on the board of several international corporations, and is Columbia ’61, of course. He’s from El Salvador, a man named Zeferino Jesus de Sevilla. Extra credit for a 1 page write up. If you’re nice, he might even help you with the homework for next class.”

Alex perked up when he heard that name. Of course, that was the man who was paying for his cousin’s education. He would have to go hear this talk, on globalization was it? The man must be fascinating. A group of his classmates were chatting as they walked out. “Isn’t that the guy who owns the factories in El Salvador? The ones that those protestors downtown were talking about?” one girl wanted to know.

“Huh, what protestors? Hey, there’s always people downtown protesting something or another,” a guy responded. “Anyway, you all ready to hit the bar tonight? I can’t wait to get blitzed, school is such a drag.”

They started talking about where they were going that night, but Alex paid no attention. He wanted to go to the talk and learn more about globalization. Maybe he could pick up a few tips from his fellow countryman.

*** 6:45 PM, Back of a Limousine, highway outside Miramar FTZ, El Salvador

Alex sat facing the back of the limousine, next to the Senator’s chief of staff, as the Senator proved true to his demeanor and grilled Alex about the incident earlier. Still stunned over what he had seen earlier, he listened impassively, occasionally throwing out short answers. “…Now look, you know as well as I do that a Senator’s staff is an extension of the Senator himself. I don’t know what you were doing wandering around by yourself, but this can’t happen. I’ve never known you to do something so irresponsible, Alex. I took a big risk in hiring you at so young an age. Don’t disappoint me like that again.”

Alex started to feel personally attacked. Yes, he had snuck off without permission, but was that so bad? After all, his own family worked here, a subject he wanted to bring up…”But sir, some of the things I saw –“

The Senator held up a hand. “Alex, stop. I know where you are going with this. Look, I know a snow job when I see one, and that tour was like the god damn toy factory at the North Pole on Christmas Eve. I’m glad you got to see what you wanted to see, no wait, don’t protest.” Alex had started to speak but stopped. “Maybe you didn’t know you wanted to see it for yourself, maybe you had other reasons, but for whatever reason, you did it. I just hope you have the fortitude to do the right thing when you figure out what it is.”

Now that was a curious remark, and it made Alex stop and think. He had never heard the Senator make a comment like that. As he contemplated this, the limo pulled up to the hacienda. Alex noticed another limo already parked ahead of theirs. A bodyguard rushed to open the door for the Senator, who, in an unusual situation, was not immediately photographed by curious journalists, as there were none around. Zeferino himself, flashing a charming smile, came out to greet the Senator, with the Undersecretary trailing behind him. “Welcome Senator Allen, so nice to see you again. And how are Lily and the kids doing?” “Just fine, Nino, thank you. Let us get down to business, shall we?”

The chief of staff, a surly political animal who had broken many careers in helping his boss to his current position, remarked to Alex, “The Senator was being too nice. You pull a stunt like that, and it makes the news, I’ll fire you myself.” He got out of the limo and left Alex, despite himself, with a half smile on his face. The game takes itself too seriously, Alex thought. But that was a rule of the game, too. Alex slid across the seat and stepped out of the limousine, and found himself face to face with his cousin.

“Jose! What are you doing here?” Alex exclaimed as they embraced.

“¿Su madre no te dijo? I work for the jefe now as an aide. I gave the tour this afternoon, while you were off partying at the barro, no doubt,” his cousin laughed heartily. Alex noticed that the mirth didn’t reach his eyes though.

“Incredible! I haven’t seen you since our college days. Qué increíble that Nino sent you to NYU free of charge.” The two cousins caught up, intermixing English and Spanish as they walked towards the main house where dinner was being served following the meeting. Neither cousin was invited to that meeting, as it was to be a high level exchange between the Senator, and Nino. A thought nagged at Alex though. Why had the Undersecretary been there before the Senator? And why was he not with the rest of the group? He couldn’t be invited to the meeting, could he?

“José, donde está that self important hijo de una perra that was with Nino when we got here? The Undersecretary?” “¿Esa puta? I don’t know, Alex. Want to go look for him? These old guys are kind of boring anyway.” “Yeah, let’s do it. I want to see the grounds anyway.”

They walked out the back of the main house towards the rest of the estate. Alex was impressed- two more houses, plus a stone veranda, overlooking a lake. Alex knew they had been going up the side of a mountain from where the free trade zone was, but he hadn’t realized that they were literally at the top of a dead volcano. The estate boasted a dock with several jet skis tied up, as well as a speedboat.

“Alex, I know where Nino and your boss will be meeting. That might be a good place to start.”

They walked over to one of the houses, and jumped behind a clump of trees as they saw the side door open and Nino step out, angrily talking over a cell phone in rapid fire Spanish. “Sí, the old man knows nothing, but our main contact says he’s not as dumb as he looks…Fucking hell, why do they have to organize while all the important suits are down here? Look, make a concession or two, NOTHING about pay, promise them I’ll send some more of their kids to school. Just wait until this delegation is gone, and then we’ll bust em down…yeah, he said he wants to “save us”…Sí, sí, it is merely an interruption of our plans, but I’ll show him what can be done yet… That’s right. Yes, he will take care o f it. Its extortion, but it’s the price of business…Ok, you know what to do. Get to it,” Nino said, then snapped the phone shut. He looked around to make sure no one was there, and then stepped back inside.

Alex’s head spun. Upon hearing this new side of the conversation, his mind went back to two events. One week ago, Senator Allen had called Alex into his office, and asked him if he wanted to go to El Salvador. Alex had only been once, and he jumped at the opportunity. The reason, Senator Allen said, was that due to recent pressure by human rights groups, as well as a new proposed bill that would radically alter CAFTA, the Central American Free Trade Agreement, various congressmen was flying to countries with free trade agreements with the US in order to show that they were doing something. They would take tours, meet with workers, as well as with bosses, and encourage greater freedoms and liberties. Congress mostly just wanted to prove that they were doing something about so-called “sweat shops”, though Senator Allen disagreed with that characterization, as he made clear to Alex. “Those IMF protestors know less than nothing, they just prove that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” Alex recalled the Senator saying at the time. “Free trade is the solution, not the problem. They’ll see.” Of course, Alex agreed. Everything he had ever learned in his economics courses taught him so.

But right now, at this very moment, Alex wasn’t thinking about macroeconomic theory or trade deficits or anything. He was thinking about what he had seen that afternoon after he had snuck away from the tour group.

Alex had known full what he was doing in sneaking away from the group. Contacted three days earlier by a man claiming to be a member of a group called CISPES, or the Committee in Solidarity with the People of El Salvador, who said that he would show Alex “what the conditions in the free trade zones were REALLY like.” At first, Alex had resisted, wondering how this man even knew about the Senator’s upcoming trip, but when the man promised to show Alex’s own aunt to him, he had agreed to the plan. He was shocked at what he saw.

Hundreds of women worked in these factories, in squalid conditions. Alex couldn’t help remembering pictures from the Industrial Revolution in the US that he had seen in history classes. They worked for an average of less than a dollar per hour, and were allowed only two bathroom breaks for workdays that often stretched twelve hours or longer. The managers were ruthless. Alex witnessed two separate incidents where managers made examples of or harassed workers. His guide told him that attempts to unionize were met with extreme prejudice. One attempt by 400 women to get better pay and conditions had resulted in 400 firings. Other times, just union leadership was fired. Many of the investors, not just from the US but from some Asian countries as well, treated the women as subhuman, and were frequently allowed to set their own work rules. Salvadoran labor laws were rarely enforced. Even the law that required Christmas bonuses was frequently violated.

His guide told him that all the evidence was pointing towards increased state crackdowns, including violence, on social activists who tried to protest these conditions. Instead, the governments attracted more investors with more free trade zones, and increasingly were privatizing industries and forcing workers to turn to the free trade zones as a result.

Now Alex was starting to piece together what exactly the purpose of this trip was. With the CAFTA amendment on the docket, businessmen like Nino and the US guys wanted assurances that their investments weren’t about to dry up. They needed the lax enforcement, the docile workforce, and the low wages, to continue to turn a profit. And from what he had heard from the Undersecretary and now Nino, it sounded like there would be some money changing hands, and an attempt to water down the CAFTA bill in favor of business interests. Alex was dazed. What could he do? The mysterious guide that afternoon had shown him his aunt from afar; let him watch as she toiled under the watchful eye of a Korean manager who had been particularly hostile that day.

“José, why do you work for this man? He perpetuates these horrible conditions that your family and your people suffer through.” Jose looked away at the comment, and then said, “Alex, I have little choice. He promised to reward my family if I did well in school, and then came to work for him. In 5 years, he said he promises to give my family enough money to retire. He uses me and others as PR, to show off the poor brown boy to his rich friends and talk about how progressive they are.”

This comment struck a bit too close to home for Alex. Was he nothing but a showpiece for the Senator? No, the Senator was a kind, decent man. Perhaps extremely political, but he wouldn’t hire Alex just to have a little diversity in his office. Alex was a bit wary for the rest of the night, and couldn’t keep his eyes off Nino and the Undersecretary, who seemed to be the orchestrators of this whole charade, while the Senator just played at being oblivious.

*** Senator Allen’s office, 4 days later, Washington DC

Still, the Senator wasn’t exactly about to throw down the gauntlet over the labor rights of a people that had been “shamelessly exploited by the US for many decades before the Senator came to power, and probably would be for decades after he retired”, as the Senator would point out when Alex tried to engage him in a serious discussion. “Alex, I’ve got to be practical. I have constituents who have real concerns, every day struggles, and they actually control whether I stay in office or not. As much as I would like to help, what can I do?”

Alex summoned his courage, and said, “Sir, I think I understand. I also believe I understand another thing you told me, something about fortitude. Respectfully, sir, you have been incredibly generous to me, but effective immediately, I must resign my position.”

A smile crossed the Senator’s lips. “Son, we might just make something out of you yet. Any plans on where you will go?”

“None.”

“Scared?”
“Shitless.”

“Attaboy. Go get em, kid.”

Welcome to my blog

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Welcome to my blog, The Great Shark Hunt. The name is taken from the title of a book of essays by Hunter S. Thompson, one of my favorite writers. I intend to make this blog a collection of observations on many different things that I am interested in, including politics, sports, culture, music, books, as well as a place to put up some stories and poems that I have written. I hope to inject a sense of the coldly rational yet twisted, postmodern observations that are his hallmark, and the hallmark of another of my favorite writers, Kurt Vonnegut. Constructive criticism and debate is welcome; I encourage anyone to share their own view point.

A bit about myself. I am a student at a liberal arts school in the Southern United States. Right now I am spending the semester in Madrid, Spain, studying at the Universidad Complutense de Madrid, through an American study abroad program. Originally I am from the Washington, DC tristate area, or the crazy evil "inside the Beltway" tribe, as we are called seemingly every few years by every politician in the US who desperately wants to move inside the Beltway. Don't read that wrong though - there is plenty of craziness to decry in DC, but it usually isn't that legitimate when coming from politicians.

I don't really have too much else to say regarding where I intend to take this. Hope you enjoy it.