‘But what’s the alternative?’ This must be one of the most common ripostes to anyone expressing dissatisfaction with the political, economic or social status quo. The retort, sometimes curious, sometimes withering, shifts the discussion away from criticism (which, given the current political landscape, could be performed by an attentive eight-year old) and toward constructive proposals for an alternative model - an altogether far more complex task.
The fact of the matter is that many people recognise the folly in the way we conduct our lives, caught in what seems like an endless chain of labour and consumption, but very few are able to envisage, let alone adopt, ‘another way’ of living. But several collectives (communes, comunidades, call them what you will) across Spain are proving that there is another way, a feasible, ecologically sustainable, socially-cohesive alternative.
Before going any further, it is necessary to dispel a few myths and shatter a few stereotypes. The term ‘alternative lifestyle’ typically conjures images of nudists growing their hair, practising polyamorous relations and smoking hashish to find their latent spirituality. While there are undoubtedly communities that function (I use the term loosely) in this manner, to label all comunidades as hippy, happy and hedonistic is to miss the point entirely. Most, if not all, comunidades are political projects – though some may resist this classification. I mean ‘politics’ in its widest possible sense – not the casta of bloated men in suits, shouting empty promises and lining their own pockets – but the real, tangible politics of organising society on a community level.
These communities take many forms, and their political ideas are far from homogenous. Marinaleda, an Andalusian village of around 3,000 inhabitants, is one such ‘community’ proposing (indeed, living) a socio-economic alternative. Under the leadership of Mayor Sánchez Gordillo, a man who takes inspiration from figures as diverse as Che Guevara, Mahatma Ghandi and Karl Marx, the village has become a kind of ‘communist utopia’. In 1991, the people of the village were granted a 1,200 hectare estate by the regional government after nearly a decade of strikes and occupations. This land was then cultivated according to the central tenet of Gordillo’s philosophy; to create the maximum amount of human labour possible. Efficiency, that pillar of modern Capitalism, became a dirty word, abandoned in the name of collective good and human dignity. Land was managed by cooperativas and decisions taken communally. Crops were chosen not for their yield, nor for the European subsidies they would elicit, but on the basis of jobs they would create. Today, it is clear that Gordillo’s strategy has paid dividends; unemployment in the village is all but non-existent (compared to a 34% regional average) and the sense of community has never been stronger (the village has no police force, and, evidently, no need for one).
In Catalonia, on the outskirts of the capital, lies another comunidad, pioneering a slightly different approach (and with a slightly shorter history). Can Masdeu was a deserted former hospital falling into ruin until it was occupied by a collective of local and international activists in 2001.They set about creating their own ‘utopia’ – a self-sufficient, ecologically-sustainable project, a ‘creative act of disobedience’ against urban life and its limits. Using non-hierarchical decision-making structures, the squatters oversaw the transformation of the hospital into a vibrant, environmentally-friendly living space. Using old Roman sewers, they created an irrigation system that allowed the cultivation of organic foodstuffs in the former gardens (following a permaculture design). A decade and a half later, the Can Masdeu comunidad is still functioning – flourishing, even complete with an educational action centre (PIC – Punto d’Interacción de Collserola) that hosts workshops and discussions about the politics of autonomy, the necessity of community and the importance of ecological sustainability.
Despite the ideological differences evident in the above examples, they share several founding principles that are common to most, if not all comunidades. As the name suggests, they are typically built around a concept of community that often seems lacking in an increasingly atomised and fragmented modern world. Sharing is the key word here; be it labour, time or space, communal needs take precedence over individual concerns. Inter-generational solidarity is strongly encouraged in both cases. Public space is endowed with the importance it deserves, rather than neglected, and left for private enterprise to devour and undermine. Individualism and personal gain are roundly rejected in favour of nurturing a strong community network that provides support for all its members.
A second key principle is that of respect for the land. In the case of Can Masdeu, this means organic produce cultivated in an ecologically-sustainable fashion. In the case of Marinaleda, this means farming in a sustainable, almost pre-Industrial manner, with a long-term emphasis on creating and maintaining jobs rather than maximising profit. Activist and campesino would no doubt differ in opinion on many subjects, but both would agree that the land is to be maintained and respected, not poisoned, exploited and destroyed.
A third tenet is a wholesale rejection of globalism, and a corresponding enthusiasm for prioritising local and regional concerns. Most comunidades view globalisation as an overwhelmingly negative force, on both an ecological and social level. For all the economic rationalities and free-trade rhetoric, the globalisation of trade has had, and continues to have, a catastrophic impact on the environment. Buying products that have been shipped or flown halfway round the world because they are cheaper than local alternatives is in no way sustainable. Additionally, focusing on the global market at the expense of the local or regional equivalent has had a devastating effect on small scale agri-businesses, and played a significant role in the decline of ‘community’ by culling independent local producers. The comunidades try to provide an alternative; quality produce, locally grown at an affordable price.
It should be pointed out that the comunidades are not a uniquely Spanish phenomenon. They are present, in some form or another, in most (if not all) European countries, and throughout Latin America. However, due to political, historical, and geographic reasons, the ‘ideology’ (as outlined above) seems to gain particular traction across the Iberian peninsula. A strong ‘anarchist’ heritage, a widespread sense of indignación toward the ruling elite, high unemployment, and an agreeable climate no doubt play a significant part in their popularity. A second important ‘footnote’ that follows on from the previous statement is that the comunidades are not suddenly becoming popular. They are not a fad or passing phenomenon, and to dismiss them as such would be both disingenuous and factually inaccurate.
By the same token, to claim the comunidades solve the contemporary socio-political malaise at a stroke is hugely optimistic. They do, however, provide a legitimate critique of a socially-fragmented, environmentally-indifferent, increasingly globalised world. What’s more, their very existence demonstrates that there is another way, another well from which to draw ideas in order to build an alternative future.
For a detailed account of Marinaleda in English, see Dan Hancox’ account ‘The Story of Marinaleda, the Communist Village Against the World’.
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