← From Our Own Correspondent
From Our Own Correspondent
Tiny Boats at Sea
00:28:06
Spain crawls painfully out of recession but Pascale Harter, in Barcelona, says so much...
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- [00:00]
Kate Adie
This is a download from the BBC.
- [00:02]
Simon Atkinson
It's the latest edition of from our own Correspondent, broadcast on Radio 4, and it's introduced by Kate Ady.
- [00:09]
Narrator/Presenter
Hello. In this edition, Spain crawling slowly out of recession. But how many lives have been ruined by long years of economic chaos in America? Six million manufacturing jobs gone. Does the US make anything anymore in Inner Mongolia may be rich in natural resources, but there's concern about disappearing heritage and tradition. Children there, we're told, are lost like tiny boats at sea. And is it the legs? Is it the eyelashes? Perhaps it's the hump. We're in the deserts of Abu Dhabi. Finding out what exactly makes a camel beautiful now is the worst, really. Over in Spain, certainly the latest economic indicators are being studied with keen interest. They show the country emerging from recession for the first time since its decade long property bubble burst six years ago. Unemployment remains a serious problem. This week, the jobless total was up, but not as sharply as last month at 26%, though it's still higher than in any other European Union country, bar Greece. Not surprisingly, any suggestion that recession is now officially a thing of the past has been welcomed. But as Pascal Hota's been finding out in Barcelona, many Spaniards can't quite believe the news.
- [01:28]
Pascal Harta
Recently, I've taken to trying out this phrase on people I the economy's growing, then. Hmm, so they say is invariably the response viewed from inside the country. Spain's economic recovery, much vaunted on the pages of international newspapers, is perplexing. That's because here there's no sign of it, no sign of the new jobs a recovery should bring either. And much of the damage has already been done. Many Spaniards who lost their jobs in the wake of the 2008 crash lost their homes, too. I know whole families, grown men and women with children of their own who've moved in with their elderly parents. I know elderly people who are using their pensions to make the mortgage repayments on homes bought by their sons and daughters. In Spain, if you don't have family, you're no one. A woman called Ana told me that Ana is from Equatorial Guinea, a former Spanish colony in West Africa. Now she lives on the street here. I first met her in August 2012. She was sitting on a duffel bag outside my local metro station, sketching. Hola, I said. What are you drawing? She ignored me. Six months later, though, she was taking a nap on my sofa. It was a viciously windy day in January, and as Catalans dashed along with their chins tucked into the collars of their quilted jackets. I came across Anna aimlessly dragging a broken suitcase along the pavement. When I invited her home for a hot bath, she looked at me with some suspicion. I'd been saying hello to her outside the metro since before the trees lost their leaves, when the humid heat of summer still hung in the air. And although I'd clearly made no impression, she did come in anyway. After the hot bath, she told me it was good to get clean, but bad that the water in Barcelona was so hard. She lamented the lack of quality bubbles. Anna is full of interesting information. I asked her why she carried a stack of nappies in her suitcase. It's dangerous, she told me. If you're a woman living on the street, you to take down your trousers in the night if you need a pee. Once, having broken up with a man I was seeing, Anna told me it was obvious to her it wouldn't work because I was not fantastical enough, as she put it. It was spring and we were eating fried eggs and chillies out on my terrace. That's her favourite. You need to be more like the women in magazines, she told me. More beautiful? I asked. More mysterious. You wear your heart on your sleeve, she said disapprovingly. You need to be harder. I thought about this as I cleared our plates and hung out her washing. She is full of pithy insights, like you're no. 1 in Spain if you don't have a family. Irene is a shop assistant. She earns €700amonth. Her boyfriend has been unemployed for two years. His benefit has run out. They get by because his father has moved out of his flat and gone to live in the village where he grew up so that they can live there instead. I don't go on protests against the cuts because if I don't work, I don't get paid, she told me. For Spaniards who do have jobs, the grandparents often act as unpaid childcare. I don't mean Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, I mean Monday to Friday. All day long, 70 and 80 year olds out pushing prams. And they're angry. Sometimes they even say things like Franco, the late dictator, wasn't as corrupt as the current politicians and didn't steal so much from pensioners and the working poor. Then they go home and hand over some of their pension to the grown children they thought would be looking after them. But families are also being stretched like never before. Less discussed than the reported recovery is the continuing drop in the size of the general population in Spain. This partly reflects the number of young Spaniards who've left to look for work abroad. And Ana's family, such as it is, is unravelling too. I'm getting married and moving outside Barcelona. I'll be too far away for washing and fried eggs with chillies. I worry about my friend, especially as she's now got competition. When I first met Anna a year and a half ago, she was the only beggar in the area. Neighbours bought her sandwiches or sweatshirts they no longer wanted. But now there are at least five people begging regularly here. And they're Spanish. Perhaps they then are the nobodies, Spaniards without families to support them.
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Narrator/Presenter
That's Pascal Harta in Barcelona. In the United States, meanwhile, a decline in manufacturing shows little sign of slowing down. The loss of heavy industry in the so called Rust Belt has devastated many American cities. The US Bureau of Labour Statistics says that in the first decade of this century, the country lost 6 million manufacturing jobs. Confronted with stacks of goods from China and other countries in the discount shops, some Americans wonder whether their country makes anything at all anymore. So Mike Wendling has been on a survey for US made goods. He has found one place where America is still king of the shelves.
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Mike Wendling
My parents recently had a clear out and they sent me some of my old things. One was a music box I had as a small boy. Orange plastic on a wooden block. When wound, it still plays a gentle tune. My name is Michael. I've got a nickel, I've got a nickel. Shiny and new. The song goes on to describe how Michael uses his almost worthless coin to buy lots and lots of candy, which gives you an idea of how long ago my childhood was. On the back of the music box are the words Fisher Price company Made in East Aurora, New York, usa. East Aurora is a village in rural western New York State. It's the kind of place you drive to in the autumn just to look at leaves and and end up coming home with a bushel of apples. From a roadside stand, Fisher Price, now part of the multinational toy giant Mattel, still has a significant local presence. Although these days no toys are actually made in East Aurora. Instead, the company has offices, a children's play center and an outlet store. During a recent visit, I scoured that store for something, anything made in the United States. Among the toys from China and Mexico, I found a few American made books, a couple of dolls and a plastic case for model cars. The cars themselves have been made in Malaysia. Five minutes away is the Made in America store. Owner Marc Andle was inspired to open it by the near failure of his welding business which made custom metal products. For nearly two decades at its peak, he employed nearly 70 local workers. And then his customers discovered outsourcing. They switched to Chinese suppliers. It was the first time I had confronted international competition, he tells me. The recent recession didn't help. He had to downsize and tell friends, neighbors and family members that they were out of a job. But the tough times also gave him the idea. Three years ago, he opened his store. He claims it is the only general retailer in the entire country that sells 100% American made products, right down to the packaging. So what's inside a store where everything is made in America more than you might think? Gifts and toys, Socks and T shirts. More expensive than you'll find in the nearby Walmart. But they look a bit sturdier, too. Local beer, barbecue sauce, potato snacks, tools, shovels, cleaning products, model airplanes, and American flags. 5,000 products in all. And Mark has just opened a second shop. But perhaps it's more telling to look at what you can't find in the Made in America stores first, Mark tells me nothing that plugs in and nothing that runs on a battery. We can send a man to the moon, he says, but we can't make a toaster. The actual making of the toaster is not the challenge, of course. American companies could make millions of toasters, and it's just that they would be more expensive than foreign ones. The second type of product you won't find in the stores is one made by a publicly owned company. If stock markets and shareholders are involved, Mark says, manufacturing will be done for the lowest price, invariably outside the United States. And so the shelves are filled with goods from privately owned companies, those who can keep their plants in America for reasons other than cost. Mark researches and vets every single one. People want to buy things made in America, but they don't want to do the homework, Mark says. We do it for them. Mark gives a laundry list of reasons for the decline of American manufacturing, including ideas plucked from both the left and the right. Lack of skilled workers, big business greed, welfare entitlements, government regulations, unfair trade agreements. Then our conversation shifts to an issue that seems more urgent every time I return home. The yawning gap between the rich and the poor and the shrinking middle class. Manufacturing employs a lot of people and pays them decent wages. The much talked about knowledge economy has been very good for some, but many who used to work with their hands, who used to make things, have been left behind. Still, Marc Andahl is hopeful. His store, he admits, is a speck of dust on a big carpet. But he mentions Apple and Motorola, both of which have pledged to move some manufacturing back to America. He thinks he's at the forefront of a trend. I challenge people to build the next TV here, he says. Build the next flying car. Dream a little.
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Narrator/Presenter
Mike Wendling in New York State the ousted president of Egypt, Mohamed Morsi, was back in court in Cairo this week. He's already made it quite clear what he thinks of the judicial proceedings against him. At a hearing last week, he shouted defiantly, he was still the country's legitimate president. Meanwhile, the man who removed him from power, Abdel Fattah Al Sisi, is quoted in a Kuwait newspaper this morning saying he will run for the presidency. Edward Lewis tells us many Egyptians believe he can be the strong leader the country needs to restore stability and revive the economy.
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Edward Lewis
I board the 163 train for Luxor on the platform in Aswan with a ticket in the shape of a crumpled pink piece of paper as my pass for the four hour journey north. As I step onto the carriage, the first thing I notice is the strong stench of urine and cigarette smoke that hangs in the air, and as the train waits on the platform, walking over discarded strips of sugar cane, I find an empty seat next to a window, its glass cracked and the metal frame buckled, a thick layer of dirt preventing any view out of the train. Streams of vendors passed through the carriage, their wares balanced on their heads. Tissues, crisps, cigarettes, sunglasses, bananas. A man with a scarf tied around his head shouts, shy, shy. And pours sweet tea from an enormous steaming aluminium kettle. I turn my attention to my fellow passengers. At the front of the carriage, a group of Coptic Christians sits together, the cross each of them has tattooed between thumb and index finger, flashing as they pass food between themselves. Behind them, a group of young Egyptians in tight designer T shirts and slick back hair smoke endless cigarettes and play Egyptian pop on their mobile phones. Across from me, a striking farmer sits resplendent in a brilliant white headscarf, trimmed moustache and dark woolen galabeya, his impressive wooden staff propped against the side of the carriage. Mahmoud, aged just five months, sits on his mother's lap directly opposite, nodding off in the southern Egyptian heat. Mahmoud's father, Ahmed, a shy looking man who looks far older than his 28 years, breaks some cheese and bread and, as is custom in Egypt, shares with the fellow passengers. I accept his offer and we start talking. Ahmed is on his way back to Luxor, having just attended his brother's wedding in Aswan. He used to work for a tour operator, arranging hot air balloons over the West bank but he was laid off just one month before Mahmoud's birth due to low tourist numbers. I've been sitting at home for the last six months, he said. Before the revolution, I used to sometimes earn a thousand Egyptian pounds, 84 British pounds. Now I often don't even have one. I rely on help for my family. Sometimes I even work in a coffee shop or a restaurant. He says it is a familiar story throughout Egypt. The lack of tourism due to security fears since the revolution has had a devastating impact on communities throughout the country. Luxor and Aswan among the worst hits. But it will get better, he says. Curious, I ask, why Sisi? He says. Before my train journey, I'd been in Aswan and there I'd seen signs of widespread public support for General Sisi, the army chief who led the force deposition of the Muslim Brotherhood's Mohammed Morsi. Stickers were plastered on the inside of coffee shops depicting him in aviator sunglasses alongside other Egyptian national heroes Gamal Abdel Nasser and Anwar Al Sadat. One sticker had the same shades wearing icon with an image of an eagle and the words Best soldiers in the world. This in the wake of a vote to approve the text of the new constitution. A staggering 98.1% voted yes. Although admittedly with a turnout of less than 39%, it wasn't quite the overwhelming victory proclaimed by the newspaper headlines. The Sunday edition of El Yoom Al Sabah decried El Sisi is the solution. Whilst the joy of the constitution is complete. Was El Gomoreh's lead. Peace and Al Masri Al Yawm announced a new constitution for a new era. The army took control of the land. All are afraid of them. Ahmed continues with an air of triumph. I wonder whether this might mean less freedom for the population. No, there is freedom. If you work well, there is. If you don't, then there will be a problem. No freedom, he says. I see little sign of the people who only a year and a half ago elected Mohamed Morsi as their president. While Egyptians yearn for more security, a strong handed army does appear to have genuine support. But at what price? Ahmed continues. The Muslim Brotherhood wanted all the keys for the country. Jobs only for their relatives, no one else. Now the army has control. The Muslim Brotherhood never did. It will get better. Sisi is our leader, he insists. Sisi is strong. Sisi is a lion.
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Narrator/Presenter
And that was Edward Lewis in Egypt. From there to a place which once boasted an empire which stretched from the Pacific to the Mediterranean. Today Inner Mongolia is an autonomous region in the People's Republic Of China, a territory rich in natural resources. It's a significant contributor to China's surging economy. And yet there's discontent. There were anti Beijing protests in several cities in 2011. Martin Patience says while some welcome the changes which development brings, Others believe they threaten a traditional way of life.
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Kate Adie
Growing up, I was one of those kids who used to dream of traveling to distant lands. It all seemed so exotic and, of course, so far away from my home village on the outskirts of Glasgow. Two places figure promptly in my imagination. One was Afghanistan. I spent two years there as a correspondent. It was a great experience. And the other was Mongolia. 800 years ago, Genghis Khan created one of the world's mightiest empires. It was a truly staggering achievement for most people of that time. He literally came out of nowhere. The vast steppes or grasslands of Central Asia. He conquered more territory than any man in history. Just to put it in context on the modern map, his conquests include 30 countries, now home to more than 3 billion people. And he did all of this on horseback. So, as you can imagine, when a Chinese colleague spotted that traditional Winter Games were taking place in Inner Mongolia, I jumped at the chance to go. Now, just to be clear, Inner Mongolia is part of China. It's not Mongolia proper, that's to say, the country itself, but, hey, Mongolia is just across the border. And by my reckoning, this may be the closest I might ever get. The experience didn't disappoint. When I arrived, haunting traditional music was floating across the freezing grasslands that stretched for as far as the eye could see. At the start of Dunn or traditional games, shaggy double hump camels ridden by herdsmen paraded around the small stadium, their hooves kicking up the snow. Throughout the day, there was camel racing, archery and horseback, as well as traditional Mongolian wrestling. But believe it or not, I actually get this strange sensation that had been here before. Swap the snow for rain, the camels for cattle, the wrestling for dancing, and it could have been the Highland Games. The get up, of course, was different. Kilts were replaced by resplendent traditional outfits made from lambswool to protect the Mongolians from the bitter col. But the underlying dynamic, a manly show of strength, speed and dexterity, was exactly the same. And like the Highland Games, most of this was for show. There's no escaping the modern world. Almost all the Mongolian visitors arrived in cars. They sported cell phones and cameras. Looming in the background, you could see chimney stacks, the smoke curling into the deep blue sky. Inner Mongolia is in the grip of an unprecedented mining boom that's bringing sweeping change. Rich in resources, the region is being furiously dug up to feed China's insatiable economic engine. Huge mining projects scar the once pristine landscape. Mongolians say that mining, along with desertification, is ruining their precious grasslands. The mining boom is also attracting millions of migrants from other parts of China. Once the majority here, ethnic Mongolians are now firmly in the minority. And for some, that's a cause for resentment. One man at the Games told me that he was worried that Mongolians would simply vanish. But another young girl welcomed the opportunities that come with development. She told me she was studying food science and technology at university and was living her dream. Perhaps the changes brought by the demands of a different age were best summed up by a herdsman we met an hour's drive from the Games. Nara Mandura has only known the grasslands. He tends 400 sheep, 10 cows and four horses on a settled farm. Growing up, Narammadura said he only had one set of clothes for all the seasons. Now he herds a sheep with a motorbike and not a horse. His two sons, both successful Mongolian athletes, live in the cities. But Nara Mandura worries about the loss of tradition. Children now, he said, have everything, but they're lost like tiny boats at sea. Back at the Games, the sun was beginning to dip and the festivities were starting to wind down. It was a final chance to grab a picture. Throughout the day, Mongolians kept sidling up to me while someone else whipped out a camera. This time, a Mongolian family wanted their picture taken with a strange, exotic looking foreigner. While it may be a long way from Scotland to Inner Mongolia, I left the region with the pleasant feeling that the fascination was mutual.
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Narrator/Presenter
Inner Mongolia, a bit like Scotland. You heard it here first. That was Martin Patience. Figures released in the United Arab Emirates this week show there's been strong growth in Dubai's financial sector and apparently that recent economic hardships are being steadily overcome. Today, the city of Dubai is a successful business and banking hub for the entire Middle east region. Visitors marvel at the high tech modern look of the place. They may wonder, though, quite what's left of its past history and traditions. But drive out into the deserts of the UAE and it won't be long before you come face to face with something that's been around for centuries longer than the dazzling skyscrapers, the camel. This is a beast long prized for its strength, versatility and loyalty. And even today, as Simon Atkinson's been finding out, there's prestige and prizes too. If your camel's a good looker, when
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Simon Atkinson
you're about to move on. After living somewhere for a couple of years, the last few weeks can easily become an exercise in ticking off all those things you meant to see and do, but never quite fitted in. As my stint in the United Arab Emirates was coming to an end, I found myself doing just that. And when I saw the region's biggest camel festival was taking place out in the wilds of the Abu Dhabi Emirate, it went straight on the to do list. With camel racing, camel milking contests and camel auctions, it had everything for the serious dromedary enthusiast. But in a country priding itself on tall towers and record breaking firework displays, it was perhaps inevitable the event would be all about appearances. And so it was that in soft early morning light, I drove through the sand, following signs for the camel beauty contest. I could simply have followed the noise, though. Hundreds of camels sighing and snorting create a pretty distinctive sound. But so too do the owners and their families and friends. They'd come from across the Gulf, from Saudi, Qatar, Bahrain as well as the uae, setting up Bedouin style camps. And like trainers leading their prize fighters into the boxing ring, these men and boys, women were pretty thin on the ground. Here marched, singing and clapping, waving giant flags. Amid the procession were the camels, covered in tassels, gold and silver, red, green and black. The youngest of the animals had their mothers in tow too, keeping them happy and fed before they were cheered into the judging arena. And so the big question what makes a camel beautiful? Well, all those shiny adornments don't make the slightest bit of difference, according to the man in charge of the judges. And as we wandered through the pens where the animals were being held, he explained the intricacies of the scoring system. Camels are famous for their eyelashes, but actually the eyes aren't the main concern when it comes to judging, he told me. They just make up one part of the head, along with the ears, the whiskers and the cheek. The cheek is far more important. It's one of the main criteria for a high score. Height and straight legs also count in your favour in this sort of competition, not unlike the human equivalent, I thought. There are also marks for obedience, something human supermodels aren't renowned for, but apparently an important quality in a camel. I'm guessing the beast, which kicked out at a judge, forcing him into a neat sidestep, probably lost points on that one. I'll admit that after looking at a lot of these camels close up, it did seem that some were, well, more beautiful than others. And whatever the point system says, the eyelashes got me every time. While I was happy to dismiss the whole event as something fun, if perhaps superficial, the chief judge was adamant there's more to it. The most beautiful camels are pure breeds, he told me. So this isn't just about finding the most beautiful camels. It's really about identifying the purest breeds, and that helps create a trading market. Some are bought and sold for more than a million dollars. The competition prizes, mainly donated by local sheikhs, are one way to get some return on that investment. But given camel's traditional use in these parts, transporting people and goods across the dunes and it's a slight irony that the top awards were their replacements dozens of 4x4 cars it's fair to say camel beauty judging isn't much of a spectator sport, but in a small grandstand hundreds gathered, breaking into song, occasionally banging hands and sticks against the metal frame of the structure that kept off the beating sun. It reminded me of some of the small lower league British football grounds I've been to over the years, full of people who were there more out of loyalty than anything else, but still determined to have a good time wandering around the entrance. A little later, a Saudi man leading a wide eyed black baby camel on a rope beckoned me over. Picture, picture, he said, something I'd heard quite a lot on my travels from those wanting to snap the sunburned Westerner in unusual locations. I posed obligingly. He laughed. No, not a picture of you. Take a picture of my camel, he said. She won't win anything, but I don't mind. I like her and next year she'll be more beautiful.
- [27:54]
Narrator/Presenter
All you need to know about the beauty of a camel Simon Atkinson there, bringing us to the end of another edition. I'll be here again on Saturday morning with more from correspondence far and wide. Until then, good bye.