Laugh to Keep from Crying
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| I drink to keep from worrying and I smile to keep from crying |
In another stop along along the Camino a Ítaca op-ed trail, outsiders. The ‘other’ that so many fear for some many reasons. Click over to read the originally published version in Spanish or the piece’s beginnings in English below.
I first heard it echo around the plaza del Socorro. It was an indistinct amplified
voice, but as I drew closer a few words became clearer. One in particular seemed
to repeat again and again, ‘fuera’ (outside, away, etc…). It wasn’t until I had just about reached the
plaza de Santiago that I realized that it wasn’t coming from a neighborhood fiesta, but instead
a political rally.
Being a foreigner from a country that isn’t particularly
reviled (yet), I don’t remember feeling particularly nervous at the time. But in times like these,
when the ‘other’ has become the scapegoat for all our problems, I didn’t
necessarily relish the thought of coming face to face with a jacked up crowd, drunk
on the idea that Soros inspired atheists from abroad were going to ban
Christmas and force everyone to add chorizo to their paella.
I cautiously turned the corner and there saw the president of
Extremadura, framed by the traveller’s shells of Santiago. A modest, mixed
crowd of pensioners, locals and the party faithful rocked on creaking foldable chairs
as he presented the team that would run in the upcoming local elections.
I had never really experienced anything like this before and the
travel writer in me wanted to see if the often-repeated story of the free sandwiches
was true. And of course, there was that word I had heard ring off the decapitated Torre de los Espaderos.
‘Hemos traido gente de fuera,’ (we’ve included people from outside) he excitedly told the crowd and
my curiosity grew.
Was it possible that the endogamous power structure here in
Extremadura was opening? Were they going to include assessors with different
perspectives to complement their team? Had they sourced people with the
necessary experience from around the world to bring their skill sets to help
shift the inertia of ‘lo de siempre’? (the same ‘ol same ‘ol)
They I heard, ‘Hemos traido gente de incluso fuera del partido
para complementar este equipo,’ (We’ve even included people from outside the party) and suddenly it was like a train had smashed
into the romanesque arches of Santiago and any hope I had had was buried deep beneath its rubble.
True, the hermetic party structure was letting in some outside
air. There were ‘outsiders’ in the candidacy, but as exceptions rather than
being the rule.
And then I started to laugh.
It was a laugh that came from deep down inside. A laughter that
resounded like the profound Blues motif, I laugh to keep from crying. Nothing
had changed and no one else was laughing.
The partisan blinders that stifle change and convert people who don’t belong to a party into outsiders, de fuera, also seem to block out humour. It’s a malady
that spreads a humourless cynicism whose symptoms include the inability to
perceive irony and to see the bizarre humour of their colours.
To be blind to the incredible weirdness of fervent nationalists
protesting in Japanese cars waving made in China flags, the fairytale-like feeding of at-risk kids pizza for months or the Orwellian
realism of the frowning anti-trotskyist from Vallecas lounging in a Jacuzzi in
Galapagar, all reek of a world devoid of irony. Highlight the obvious to their respective flocks and the last thing
your will find is a laugh.
Langston Hughes once said, “humor is laughing at what you
haven’t got when you ought to have it.” I suspect the opposite might also be true.
