A Couple Of Anecdotes

The Distant Relative

It seems that the multiply sclerotic great-grandson of the sister of this writer's cousin's grandmother has disbanded the limited company under which he administered his four thousand and some olive trees. Behind this decision lie two facts.

1). His chronically ill condition, although not as yet totally debilitating, prevents him from getting involved directly in the physical travails of the olive farmer, forcing him to hire all of the machinery and labour needed over the course of a year.

2). It is nearly impossible, in the province of Jaén, to find a professional contract farmer with all the necessary tools who will issue a tax receipt for work done, turning the sociedad limitada into a less than efficient form of organizing a business.

In the case of our distant relative, the very forthright gentleman currently taking care of his groves blames his reticence directly on the Junta de Andalucía - seeing as, if he were to own up to the income that has made him the proud owner of more than one ample residence, various bits of agricultural land and a recent model Audi A6, the regional government would immediately increase his taxes and, worse yet, deprive his university-attending daughter of the 3,500 euro annual, no-questions-asked, scholarship they fork over to ensure the continued social and economic progress of the disadvantaged classes of the Andalusian countryside.

The Close Friend's Brother

Occupying a position in a very high profile (in this corner of northern Morrocco at any rate) Andalusian government department*, this gentleman reports that over the most recent period his work schedule has been subtly changed. Previously, he spent all his time travelling far and wide and as needed in order to inspect and declare apt (or otherwise) whatever installations might fall under the purview of his mandate. Today, this kind of urgent motoring about has been restricted to one half of the work month. The other fifty percent is dedicated to tasks the importance of which is inversely proportionate to their distance from head office - because the money has run out. The fuel budget for the second period is 5 euros a day per vehicle.

How's That All Work?

It's like this. My distant relative's company was reduced to paying taxes on income it did not earn (effectively, a tax increase) in order save the contractor from the ignominy of having to disburse the same on what he did. And through the magic financial bullet of cutting back on diesel fuel, the Junta is now able to continue paying my friend's sybling - but now to not do the job he was hired for. The government, of course, with all its skin in the game of appearing to save its populace from the horrors of poverty and backwardness, gets to brag about how many miracles it has bestowed on its otherwise beleagred citizens - until the money dries up. Which it will.

Any similarity the reader might note to the relationships that governments everywhere are currently establishing with their respective economies - especially thinking of their financial institutions - is purely intentional. The financial rewards are now to be found in having a marginally justifiable claim to poverty. And the political rewards are in being seen to be up to the task.

*The last time we entered the administrative offices of the department in question, in the depths of winter, we observed the following panorama. Eight paper-shuffler workstations (formerly referred to as desks) in a beautifully centrally heated room, each with the added comfort feature of an electric space heater. The number of occupied posts at that moment was one. The number of electric heaters functioning full blast? Seven. The department? The Agencia de Medio Ambiente. If the reader hasn't guessed already, that's the environmental agency.

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