U.S. POLITICS & ME

I’ve always taken a great interest in U.S. politics, an interest that was rekindled when I moved to Los Angeles so many years ago. Since then, I’ve kept abreast of mainly LA politics since that was what obsessed local TV stations and other media then.

At that time, LA had its first and, to date, only African American mayor, namely Tom Bradley (pictured). A five-term mayor, serving from 1973 to 1993, he held office for 20 years - the longest tenure by any mayor in the city’s history. Indeed, his 1973 election made him only the second African American mayor of a major U.S. city, the first being Carl Stokes of Cleveland, Ohio, elected six years previously.

I’ve always felt a sort of affinity for Bradley, who died ten years ago, since we both attended - he much earlier than I - the same LA law school which was one of the few that catered for mature students on a part-time basis, Bradley while still a cop with the LAPD.

I also met him by chance as mayor. A friend who knew the Hollywood set had asked me if I would take part in a couple of movies that needed an English ‘accent’ as she put it. I agreed and shooting took place one day near City Hall. There were the usual takes and retakes and filming seemed to go on indefinitely. Whilst I was patiently awaiting my turn, I noticed Tom Bradley leave the Civic Centre complex and walk down Spring Street towards us flanked by minders. As he drew level, he gladhanded all in turn beaming broadly and commending each of us for our performance, ever the consummate politician. I recall he complimented me on my accent, although how he could have heard it I'll never know.

He ran, unsuccessfully, for Governor of California in 1982 and 1986 and, having been defeated each time by the Republican, George Deukmejian. The racial dynamics that appeared to underlie his narrow and unexpected loss in 1982 gave rise to the political term ‘the Bradley Effect’ - a tendency of white voters to tell interviewers or pollsters that they are undecided or likely to vote for a black candidate, but then actually vote for his white opponent.

Indeed, in 1982, the election was extremely close. Bradley led in the polls going into Election Day, and in the initial hours after the polls closed, some news organizations projected him as the winner. Ultimately though, Bradley lost the election by about 100,000 votes - about 1.2% of the 7.5 million votes cast. A shame as I'm sure he would have made a great Governor and possibly also Presidential candidate.

And it is this term, ‘the Bradley Effect’, that resonates now with Obama’s Democratic candidacy. He is considered to have encountered both the Bradley Effect, and a ‘reverse’ Bradley Effect - in which black voters might have been reluctant to declare to pollsters their support for Obama or are underpolled - during the 2008 Democratic presidential primary elections.

Indeed it is precisely this Bradley Effect which I am keen to explore here in Andalucia with its expatriates, some of whom, now in their late nineties, stayed on after fighting in the Spanish Civil War. A bit like Hemingway who, in an autobiographical essay, suggested he might have been not only a weapons instructor during the war but also an informant for the Republic…

But more in my next post on my forays among the US expatriate community.

WHAT, YET ANOTHER FIESTA?

Arrived at Spanish conversation class yesterday, late as usual and clutching in my sweaty hand last week’s homework, to find the whole building - the local town hall - closed. No sign of explanation anywhere. It was as I was leaving, despondently and somewhat puzzled, that the euro dropped. The fiesta taking place in a nearby town has been ‘adopted’ by this one and celebrated as a municipal event. Or rather, all the local municipal buildings close down and it’s yet another public holiday!

Jesús, our teacher, must have forgotten to mention it last week but then, he did seem a bit distracted, rushing off at the end to see his ‘abogado’ (lawyer) about some flat he’d bought off-plan. But judging by the dismal look on his usually cheerful face, it wasn't just the plan that was beginning to look off but the flat too. No doubt, it won’t be long before we hear all the details. Jesús likes to use any conceivable current event as a topic of conversation and, apart from the frequent fiestas which he naturally adores, his on-going house-hunting problems must take pride of place in the top ten we’ve discussed to date.

Speaking about records, Spain must occupy a place in the top ten countries of the world for the number of its official national public holidays - 18. Of these, the main ones are Semana Santa (Easter Holy Week) which is celebrated with huge religious fervour here in Andalucia; Los Reyes Magos (The Three Kings) on 6th January, a favourite with children because that’s the day they get their second helping of Christmas presents; and 25th July, the festival of Santiago (St James), Spain’s patron saint.

Then there are, in addition, the regional fiestas. Of these, the most important are the processions and bonfires of the Fallas of Valencia in March; the bonfires in Alicante and elsewhere on St John’s Day, 24th June; the festival of Moors and Christians in April in Alcoy, province of Alicante and the infamous bull-running in Pamplona, northern Spain, in the first week of July.

But the overall winner of the title of pseudo-Barbara Cartland-lookalike gaudiness of all regional fiestas is without doubt Seville’s Feria de Abril. Women enveloped in the most outrageously and hideously dayglo, skin-tight flamenco dresses vie with each other in flouncing up and down Seville’s beautiful avenues often to the accompaniment of snapping castanets. Or are driven around town in family-owned, horse-drawn open carriages flicking their fans in disdain at those not in possession of such luxury and battling their way through the seething, wine-drinking crowds. And, given that the average Spanish woman is not exactly petite, those skin-tight frocks don’t do any of them any favours - neither the average-looking woman flirting on a Feria street nor the immaculately-coiffed aristocrat in her private entertainment enclosure.

And last, but by no means least, are the local fiestas. In fact, every town and every village throughout Spain, however large or small, will have its own fiesta mayor, when their inhabitants let their hair down with processions, fairs, competitions, music, dancing and consumption of food and alcohol in much the same way as their ancestors have done for centuries. Madrid, for instance, celebrates the festival of San Isidro, the city’s patron saint, on 15th May. And on this single day, the sophisticated metropolis that is modern-day Madrid, turns into a collection of mini fiestas, each with its own village-like atmosphere, the residents celebrating the holiday just as their parents and grandparents before them.