"Rural Lanzarote, perhaps Teseguite. 17 years old and a new life. University. You want to be a nutritionist. Where? Las Palmas? Tenerife? You can't, it's not taught. Peninsula? Zaragoza? Goths? How disgusting. You think you'll suffer ...
"Rural Lanzarote, perhaps Teseguite. 17 years old and a new life. University. You want to be a nutritionist. Where? Las Palmas? Tenerife? You can't, it's not taught. Peninsula? Zaragoza? Goths? How disgusting. You think you'll suffer for three or four years, but then you'll return to "your land".
Trip. First days of class. You don't socialize. You stay away from "those people". You're alone, but you feel like you're more Canarian than anyone, because you reject the peninsulars. Time passes. Your classmates form groups. You're still alone. Someone approaches, and lends you some notes because on a trip to Lanzarote you missed 2 days of class.
They won't be that bad. You start to socialize. You get to know them. They're like you. A classmate who belongs to the "Ligallo Fondo Norte" group invites you to watch a Real Zaragoza match. You sing and shout. You have a good time with "the Goths". Every day you socialize more with them. Geographical barriers break down. You share your life with them.
The first year passes.
Summer. Back to the island. You miss your peninsular friends, as much as you missed your Canarian friends when you were in Zaragoza. You rethink the ideas you had at 17.
You travel. Start of the course. Now you share an apartment with 2 Andalusians and a Basque. You go to bed every day at 2 in the morning fixing the world between chats. You share books, laughter and joints. You join a political party because you think you can be useful, fueled by those chats. Thus 4 years pass. You say goodbye to your friends. You return to Lanzarote.
You find a job. Now you are part of a "Nutrition and Dietetics" office. You develop your political career in parallel. You stand out. After 4 years you are your party's candidate for the Senate. You base your speech on "you are going to get the best for your land". You win the elections.
You fulfill your electoral program. A businessman passes by in his Mercedes and thanks you because he has increased his profits thanks to one of your proposals. 5 minutes later your Basque friend calls you. Yes, the one who shared an apartment with you in Zaragoza. He has no job. The government took away his aid. You supported the suppression of that aid, so that the government party would support that proposal that benefits that Mercedes businessman.
You close your office. You are affected. You go home. You lock yourself in your room. Don't let anyone bother you. You light a cigarette (you had stopped smoking 3 years ago). While the cigarette burns, tears begin to sprout from your eyes. Is this what I'm in politics for? And you ask yourself a question. The question: What makes us different are geographical differences or social differences?
Madrid, perhaps the Salamanca neighborhood. 33 years old and a family. Unemployment. You want to get a job. Where? Ávila? Toledo? You can't, there isn't any. Morocco? Casablanca? Moors? How disgusting. You think you'll suffer for three or four years, but then you'll return to "your land".
Trip. First days of work. You don't socialize. From work to the pension and from the pension to work. You're alone, but you feel like you're more Spanish than anyone, because you reject the Moors. Time passes. You feel alone. You don't know if you can stand it like this. You need the money.
You can't give up. You work overtime. You stay until 9 at night on the construction site. One day Said (which is the name of one of your co-workers) stays with you to help you...
*Yeray Méndez Peraza, Secretary of Training of the PSOE in Lanzarote.
