The mayor who made it his mission to destroy the myth of capitalism

http://elpais.com/elpais/2012/09/18/inenglish/1347968259_513226.html


The mayor of Marinaleda, Juan Manuel Sánchez Gordillo. / JULIÁN ROJAS (EL PAÍS)

We drove the 15 minutes from Estepa through undulating olive groves, on a road almost completely empty of traffic, and then around the junction pointing to Marinaleda. Someone with delusions of grandeur had scrawled ciudad (city) underneath the town name. We crossed the "city limits" and at first glance, it appeared like any other small Spanish town: the idiosyncrasies don't jump right out at you, but slowly appear and multiply before your eyes, like ants on a hot pavement. It was very calm. It was very quiet. It was very plain. There weren't any signs indicating multinational brands: no advertising hoardings or visible intrusions of capitalism.

"Okay - welcome to Marinaleda," said Javi, as we gawped out the car window at the tranquility of it all, the ayuntamiento (council) building gleaming in the 4pm sunshine. A man of about 25 in smart jeans, black shirt, black jacket, black stubble and shades came out, surveying the scene with the confidence unique to those with the good fortune to have both youth and power on their side. This was Sergio, one of the town's councilors - later, his face jumped out at us from a wall, on the United Left election posters. "If Sánchez Gordillo takes forever to turn up, I'll call his cellphone," Sergio explained idly, fiddling with his sunglasses.

So we waited, and kicked our heels in the late afternoon warmth, dark clothes soaking up the dying light, as the shade-line crept diagonally up and over the ayuntamiento. "That's his house just over there," Sergio explained, and we toyed with the idea of just knocking on his door. A huddle of women in tracksuit bottoms power-walked down the main road in front of us, chatting away. In fact the town is so small that 20 minutes later they were back, going in the same direction, on their second lap.

We were immersed in light, bleached sun on bleached stone. It was so bright in fact, that squinting up at the town hall, I didn't even notice that from the corner of the ayuntamiento car-park, a short man in a zip-up Venezuelan football top had just ambled up to the entrance.