Bureaucracy is, in general, a pretty dirty word, isn't it? Nobody I know seems to think government administration or red tape is really acceptable in its current state, much less a good thing. Well, the Spanish people might be the most tolerant-of-bureaucracy people I have ever met. My experience with Spanish bureaucracy in the past has always been somewhat limited (mainly finalizing my citizenship and registering my marriage with Emily through the Spanish Consulate in New York, which was generally headache-free), but this year I have dealt with it quite a bit. Fortunately we seem to be done with it now, with Emily finally receiving permanent admittance into the country yesterday, but it was a long road to get here.
All Spaniards are required by law to carry, at all times, a national identification card called the D.N.I. (Documento Nacional de Identidad). It's basically a photo ID that has your name, parents' names (a ubiquitous question in Spain), address, and a personal number (something like a Social Security number), with some cool futuristic security stuff built in (wacky pin #s and a computer-chip-looking thing, plus all kinds of watermarks and such--very sci-fi movie-ish). It's not that it is a very strange or intrusive idea--I know a lot of American politicians have called for equivalents in the States, particularly after 9/11--but it's the process in getting your card for the first time and/or renewing your DNI (necessary every 5 years) that is a huge, huge, raging pain in the ass.
I will spare you the entire boring story of how many hoops I had to go through to finally get it, but suffice it to say that a trip to the DNI office makes the American DMV feel like a drive-through window. It took me three separate trips to get it done, and on the day that I finally did I showed up to the office 10 minutes before they opened, and still ended up waiting over 5 hours to be seen. You can schedule an appointment to avoid the long lines--but they are all booked up until mid-December; I'm pretty sure the lady sitting next to me had died in her seat, but I couldn't tell through all the cobwebs covering her body.
Nevertheless, you'd be hard-pressed to find someone complain about this. Without a lobby TV or even so much as a table with last month's magazines, people sit patiently and hardly seem to care. The first day Gonzalo came with us to show us where the office was, and when I complained about the wait (at that point it had been only about 3 hours) he shrugged it off, stating that the cards were very important and no doubt the clerks were doing their best to make sure all the forms were properly filled out, and so forth. That day it turns out we didn't have all the requisite paperwork (in itself an absurdity, since I had had sufficient paperwork for a passport, but somehow insufficient paperwork to prove my citizenship--think about that one), but yet nobody seemed quite sure what paperwork we needed. Person 1 asked person 2, who turned to person 3, and so on. Each had differing opinions as to what we needed, until we finally seemed to reach something of a consensus. When we left, I expressed my frustration to Gonzalo: "How can they know we don't have the right papers, and yet not know what we need?" I was expecting him to say, "I know, right?" but what I got instead was another convoluted apologia, suggesting that the job was difficult, but of the utmost importance, and we should be glad that they were taking the time and effort to be sure we had our papers in order.
Needless to say I was confused. After removing my "Don't Tread On Me" hat to scratch my head, I began to see a common thread in what Gonzalo was saying, which linked also to some things I had heard along the way. When he refused to validate my complaints, he spoke vaguely of the way things used to be a generation or more ago, telling me that the infrastructure then was much worse, with valuable records and documents often being lost, licenses and things expiring and being allowed to lapse, and so on. Under Franco, he told me, people and/or organizations who knew people within the old (corrupt/fascist) government often got preferential treatment and thus things which should have been important or well-regulated often had little or no validity at all. Gonzalo, speaking generally, said he believed that all the new measures I complained about were necessary, even if they might be burdensome, because they guaranteed that everything was equal and transparent, with everyone on the same field. In defending the current system, Gonzalo was implicitly comparing freedom and democracy to fascism and totalitarian rule; to him--and this is a sentiment I have heard or felt by others as well--minor complaints about things like waiting times for a DNI card are merely the costs of running a modern, efficient democracy. What I’ve observed, ultimately, is that Spaniards have generally a much more forgiving, optimistic, and trusting relationship with their government than Americans.
I found it fascinating and eye-opening to hear bureaucracy, something which so many Americans (myself included) decry on a daily basis, described as nothing more or less than the trade-off for a good and functioning government, and honestly it made me (as an American) feel somewhat spoiled and demanding. It made me think a lot about what we, as a nation, expect from our government, and how that reflects our values. Right now I guess that's a pretty difficult question to answer, as there seem to be two very large camps that disagree pretty strongly about how to answer that question. But from my unique perspective looking in, it seems to me that Spaniards have a more evolved and mature form of political debate, as certain things that I would consider to be major issues--health care, higher education, care for the neediest (sick/elderly/poor/homeless)--are to them expectations, and to ensure those things they are willing to put up with minor headaches that many Americans tend to demonize.
That being said, I think Spaniards' apparent-immunity to government bureaucracy also seems to go too far, and I don't mean to suggest that they have it all figured out. When Gonzalo was stressing the importance of me getting my DNI, he reminded me that, until I had one, I should never leave home without my Spanish passport, in case I needed to identify myself. After I reasoned that I didn’t want to lose it, and wouldn’t be needing identification in most instances anyway (and if so I carried my US Driver License and a credit card, both which had my name) he rhetorically questioned what I would do if the police wanted to stop and question me. “For what?” I asked, confused. “For whatever reason,” he replied. Confused, I answered “I suppose I’d try to answer whatever their question was.” Frustrated that I wasn’t seeing his point, he said “But then what will you tell them when you don’t have ID?” At this point I was further confused and felt kind of irritated and violated at this imagined-scenario, and said “Well they don’t have the right to demand my ID, I haven’t done anything wrong.” At this point Gonzalo and I shared a mutual cultural shock, as he explained to me that Spanish police—while they may not exercise it much—have every right to stop random, law-abiding citizens and question them, demand to see their identification, and take them into custody if they are not carrying their DNI. Incredulous, I told him that police have no such right in the United States, and that while many police may abuse their power and overstep their authority, American citizens are guaranteed freedom from unreasonable stops and questioning and are under no obligation to carry identification on their person. Moreover, most people who don't have Driver Licenses (a significant portion of impoverished people) don't even own photo-ID. Surprised, Gonzalo defended the Spanish law, reasoning that it was for the greater good and people should have to be able to prove who they are; when I asked him if he would be sure to carry his DNI even down the street to the grocery store, he said “Of course, yes. Always.” Still now, just the thought of that rhetorical exchange with the police gets my blood all boiled up. And furthermore, I was a bit weary about the part of the DNI process in which they obtain your digital fingerprints and keep them on file (supposedly, so my cousin tells me, courts cannot use those files to prosecute a crime, but I have my doubts). Doesn't this country have a Civil Liberties Union?
In other annoying ways, bureaucracy seems to be pretty omnipresent here. For instance, there are, if I remember correctly, 14 different types of Driver Licenses here, which break down all different categories of motorcycles, cars, vans, trucks, et cetera, and even the most basic kind requires you to take a mandatory, lengthy and expensive training class, read a book a half-inch thick (according to my cousin's estimation) and pass a very difficult test.
For my part: Don't tread on me. But give me single-payer health care. And, I wouldn't mind a full pension at age 61 :-p
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