Because You Never Asked

 

(6/10, Spain )

     I can’t say for sure, but this is something like the 23^rd year I’ve come to my annual change of airs in the Spanish Mediterranean, although my initiation into the sensual brilliance of light and azure splendor that characterizes the Hellenic-Roman world had begun long before that. Before ever stumbling upon the island that has become one of the reference points of my life, I’d already familiarized myself with the divine piece of Earth between Crete and Gibraltar and had become thoroughly bewitched by the physical beauty and cultural depth of an area that could be considered the cradle of western civilization

     The year before I came here, I’d spent a good part of my summer on one of those golden Greek isles that conjure up visions of the Onassis wing of American royalty and other assorted gods and demy-gods plucking grapes under the sun-dappled splendor of it all. At the time, my Spanish language skills were showing signs of functional possibilities. As a result, when next year rolled around, I decided to combine my linguistic education with another trip to the Roman Sea. I opened the atlas, finger scanned the western Mediterranean and found a few spots of land off the east coast of Spain .

     When I arrived to the island I’d chosen, my disappointment could not have been more patent. Unlike the Homeric languidity day dreaming lazily under the Aegean sun, my destination turned out to be a bustling city of 40,000 people --- global economy tourism, charter flights, travel agents, 6 days and 7 nights, everything included, not my cup of sangria. A few days later, while trying to make the best of it, I found myself wandering around the city’s port area when I noticed a ferry boat to a smaller neighboring island. I thought --- why not?

     We are all familiar with the expression “love at first sight”. This is a sanitized version of a more realistic concept I’d call “lust at first sight”, which happens everyday (hour? minute?). One could even ask if there really is such a thing as love at first sight. When that ferry boat began to slow down upon arrival into the little port that is the only serviceable point of entry for goods and vehicles on my beloved island, that was the most tangible experience I’ve ever had with the idea of “love at first sight”. As I scanned the approaching island from the deck of the old steamer --- the white stucco glare of a few hotels and restaurants scattered behind a row of date palms, some ancient fishing boats tinkling rigging in the gentle air, the parched Mediterranean landscape dotted with white and beige colored houses rising up from the sea, I thought --- this is more like it.

     Twenty three years later I’m sitting reading a newspaper story about a new ferry that will soon tie up here, the biggest boat ever to use the little port I fell in love with so many years ago. And I thought --- there’s a metaphor here, something more universal that smells of the global economy and its modus operandi.

     In a world whose only motivational mechanisms have been distilled down to a hysterical quest to make money, no beautiful place sitting anonymously on the leeward side of the action will stay out of this financial wind storm for long. Such beauty has great value and it took the global economy far less than 23 years to find it on my beloved island. It is no longer that special place for the secret brotherhood of those who “know”. The insatiable appetite of economic incentive has sucked my beloved island into the unavoidable vortex of pecuniary lust. It is now “on the map”, the same map my finger scan could not find it on so long ago.

     And yet, if you stay away from July and August, it has managed to hold onto that pre-massification quality that continues to bring the original “literati” back. The key to this, along with a local attitude still in touch with its identity, is the absence of an airport. But the impending arrival of the biggest ship ever is a reminder of just how hungry the global economy is. The fight to stop it is never won. Like a serial killer, it is stalking, watching, waiting, planning its next crime.

     What caught my eye in reading the article about the biggest ship was not so much that it was coming, which should surprise nobody. The amazing part, just a week from its inaugural arrival, is that no one is sure if the little port can handle it! The ship in question is a true ocean liner with a length of 100 meters. This makes it more than twice as long as any boat tying up here now. The dock meant to accommodate it is only 100 meters long. It’s a tight fit. The opening to the harbor can even be a troublesome entry for the biggest ship that comes here now, a stylish, recent vintage car-ferry of about 40 meters from the same shipping company. There are concerns the maneuvers necessary to get the big fella’ in and out could paralyze the little port for 20 minutes or more.

     How about a test run? Sorry, bringing a ship like that empty anywhere, with no passengers, cargo or automobiles, is just too costly.

     I have an acquaintance here who is the head man on the island for the shipping company about to undertake this enterprise. I’ll call him Jaime. I said, “Jaime, what about this big ship you’re bringing here? Seems kind of risky to me.” He just shrugged and said yeah, there are some kinks to work out. I said, “Jaime, you know how the weather is around here. Sometimes the wind comes up out of nowhere. It could be a problem, no?” He just shrugged and said yeah, but we’ve done this for a long time, we’ll figure it out.

     And here’s where the metaphor starts to become more universal. It was less Jaime’s words and more his attitude that made me think of the horrifying oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. Picture yourself in a plush boardroom full of oil company executives and someone says, hey, y’know, we are drilling further and further off shore, are we sure nothing can go wrong? There is an awkward silence as the silver haired patricians exchange perplexed looks. There are a number of non-committal shrugs. Someone straightens his tie. The lone woman at the huge, ice varnished wooden table snaps open her purse and begins fumbling in it. Finally, someone says, we’ve been doing this for a long time, what could go wrong? The tension is broken, private conversations break out around the table, have you made reservations for lunch?

     A year later, we are in another oil company boardroom. Someone says, hey, we’re down more than 5,000 feet, we’ve never done that before, are we sure --- Someone interrupts: what are you worried about? When haven’t we been able to handle it? And besides, the government said it is OK. This sets off a loud burst of laughter around the table. Yeah, the government, says somebody sarcastically. Hey, I have box seats at the Yankee game tonight, want to come ---?

     Some of you might be asking yourselves why I’ve been so generic here, why haven’t I singled out the obvious culprit, BP? That is a trick we should all stop falling for. The oil business likes to disguise itself as a free market example of capitalist enterprise, when it is much more a Mafioso of respectable lineage that deodorizes the smell of one of the world’s most lucrative scams. These are the world’s most respectable thieves. This is a private club of the most exclusive membership. The practices of one company are the practices of all. It is a ruse meant not to compete, but to keep these resources in private hands. When that rig blew up in the Gulf of Mexico, BP drew the short straw, but it could have been any of them. It is a blow for all of them. It is a blow for the singular criminal activity that is the oil industry.

     And now we climb to the top of the neo-liberal global economy food chain, to the place where its metaphorical imitators below get their model --- the financial institutions, the bankers, the insurers, the investors; Wall Street, The City, Hong Kong, the Dax --- you need money? Lay it on us, we’ll listen.

     The financial oil spill that started in America has reached Europe as well. Much as the oil business is one, so too are the incomprehensible Sanskrit machinations schemed up by the financial elites at the heavenly reaches of their skyscraper offices. It’s not Greece or Spain or this country or that. It is a global financial racket that uses the nation-state and its respective governments as its enabler and, even more important, as its fall guy and insurer when things do not work out. And, just like the shipping company trying to get the biggest ship into the little harbor; just like the oil companies in their search for billions of dollars more, the Lords and Barons of finance began leaping before they looked. And surely, in some boardroom somewhere on the 85^th floor with a spectacular view of the city, and in some dank government office in the basement of a Stalinesque building somewhere, somebody surely said, hey, y’know, have you really checked this out? Checked out what? Well, we’re lending large sums of money to people and entities with no collateral. So? We’ve been doing this for a long time now. Yeah, but --- but what? Well, we don’t even have the money we’re lending to these people. Silence, shrugs, looks that say this guy has got to be kidding. And somebody jumps in and says, you’re new here, aren’t you? Yeah, but --- Forget the buts. You’ll get the hang of it after awhile. The tension is broken. Separate conversations break out around the table. You should see the house I’m building in Kings Point.

     It’s the Wild West out there, law beyond the Pecos, all driven by money. It’s as if the contemporary form of capitalism has tapped into some heretofore unknown bodily organ of greed, a microscopic gland or fold in the brain’s cortex that sets off a craving for money in much the same way we feel a need for food or sex. “I don’t care what I have to do to get it ---“

     Post Script: The biggest ship has been arriving on a regular basis. I noticed they changed their technique for getting in and out at least once before settling on the maneuver they now use. They are making it look easy. No problem --- just like drilling in the Gulf used to be.