‘Are you optimistic about the village?’ I asked, alluding to the situation with the peonadas, and the collapse in funding they were getting from Seville.
‘The situation with work is critical right now,’ he agreed. ‘It’s complicated, with the peonadas, but critical. But of course I’m optimistic. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be working on this project. It’s a real alternative to the crisis, and I believe the rest of the capitalist world can be different, too. I’m aware that Marinaleda has advantages and disadvantages, but we can be an example.’
He cited their achievements again, with the same matter-of-fact confidence that Sánchez Gordillo always displays when talking about seizing the land, building houses, and reclaiming culture for the people. Are your fellow villagers optimistic too? I asked.
‘Yes, of course. They know the situation is critical. In the past Marinaleda received a lot of benefits from Seville to help create jobs, and now they are being taken away, because of the crisis of capitalism. But the pueblo, they know we fought – we all fought – for our needs and rights before, and it’s necessary to do so again.’
It’s not quite back to square one, back to 1980, but I was starting to see Sergio’s rationale. This was Marinaleda’s second great crisis-opportunity. You have a big burden, I said, you’re making a big promise, if you think you can sustain the utopia in this context. He laughed – at me, this time.
‘Are you serious? We’ve been fighting for thirty years, and we promised all this, back then. Look at what the village was like thirty years ago, and look what it has become through struggle.’
He stopped short of saying, ‘Ha, your feeble crisis of capitalism is nothing,’ but I got the feeling he wanted to. The odds stacked against them in 1975, when Franco died, were certainly far, far greater, and this brazen revolutionary confidence is going to be essential to the village’s future.
We ordered another round of drinks, and Uzma pestered Sergio some more about when she might be able to meet Sánchez Gordillo; he buffered and stalled, perhaps a little weary of his role as gatekeeper, especially since his instructions were clearly to keep the gate firmly shut. I tried to swerve the conversation away from the mayor.
For my book, Sánchez Gordillo is not everything, I said to him. I’m more interested in the people, the pueblo, as a collective, and what they have achieved – not just the one man.
‘Okay,’ he said, gravely, ‘but you’ve got to understand who we’re talking about here. Quite simply, everything Marinaleda has won is thanks to Sánchez Gordillo. That is evident. Everything we have made, it’s thanks to him.’
It felt almost like I was getting told off for having the temerity to shift the credit for their victories from the leader to his followers – for daring to underestimate his influence. ‘But one day,’ I started, ‘well, the day will have to come when he …’ Sergio cut me off.
‘When he’s no longer leader, in the future, the project will continue. The project is still the same, to create a utopia, and that will continue.’
He stopped.
‘But the day has not come yet.’
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my parents, Helen and Rod, for advice and support beyond the call of duty, to my sister Sally across the other side of the world and to my wonderful friends for putting up with me while I was writing this.
Thanks to Dave Stelfox for photographs and solidarity in the form of hot cheese; to Steve Bloomfield, Tan Copsey, Paul Fleckney, Cat O’Shea and all previous and honorary members of the Republic of Florence for their patience and good humour (you’re an acknowledgement); to Daniel Trilling for his ever-wise counsel; to Anthony Barnett, Alice Bell, Melissa Bradshaw, Heleina Burton, Joe Caluori, Ally Carnwath, Adrian Cornell du Houx, Valeria Costa-Kostritsky, Anna Fielding, Sam Geall, Rosa Gilbert, Paul Gilroy, Alex Hoban, Tom Humberstone, Jamie Mackay, Alex Macpherson, Phil Oltermann, Jen Paton, Laurie Penny, Kirsty Simmonds, Alex Sushon, Kanishk Tharoor, Vron Ware, Bella Waugh, Nick Wilson and Chris Wood for listening to me witter on; to my editor Leo Hollis at Verso, as well as Federico Campagna, Huw Lemmey, Mark Martin, Lorna Scott Fox, Sarah Shin, Rowan Wilson, and my agent Sophie Lambert at Conville and Walsh. Shouts also to the people keeping my brain switched on in London, in particular everyone at openDemocracy, the Deterritorial Support Group and Novara Media.
I’m forever grateful to everyone who talked to me across Spain in the last few years – and especially to all the people who bought me beer, took me on marches, gave me lifts, talked politics with me, and made me lentils and chorizo. Thanks in particular to Marcel and Karine at Can Serrat in El Bruc, Ian Mackinnon in Madrid, Carlos Delclós, the Artefakte gang, Jaime Casas and Tom Clarke in Barcelona, Juanjo Alcalde, Emma Herrera Ortiz and Paulette Soltani in Sevilla, Javi Rivero and his family in Estepa, and Chris and Ali Burke, Antonio Porquera Tejada and Cristina Martín Saavedra in the village.
Thanks above all to the people of Marinaleda.
Copyright
First published by Verso 2013
Text © Dan Hancox
Photographs © Dave Stelfox 2013
All rights reserved
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
Verso
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US: 20 Jay Street, Suite 1010, Brooklyn, NY 11201
Verso is the imprint of New Left Books
ISBN-13: 978-1-78168-130-5
eISBN (US): 978-1-78168-188-6
eISBN (UK): 978-1-78168-499-3
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
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