XXXVII - At The Mall

´Friday at last! I thought this week was never going to end!’ I said, as I hopped into the car. It was a dark-blue Fiat, so old that every time Alexandre parked it, he couldn’t help but being slightly surprised that it hadn’t dismantled itself somewhere along the way. He had bought it only a few months after he first received his driver’s license, more than 5 years ago. Even back then, it was one of the oldest, more worn-down cars in the stand. Still, he hadn’t a lot of money to spend back then, and 1500 Euros for a car, even one that old seemed like a bargain at the time.  Plus, and most importantly, it was everything he could afford. Even though the car had earned him a few mockeries, first at university and later at work, the truth was that it had served it’s purpose brilliantly, overcoming even Alexandre’s most optimistic longevity expectations.

            ‘I hear you man, thank god for Fridays!’

            ‘You might as well, since if it wasn’t for Christianity we wouldn’t have weekends. I don’t know how the Romans lived without weekends.’

            ‘They had slaves dude. I wouldn’t give a shit about weekends either if I had slaves working for me, especially if the slave girls looked as good as the ones in Spartacus.’

            Fifteen minutes later, Alex sighed in relief for the umpteenth time as he parked his car in front of the shopping mall.

            As usual, as soon as we hopped off the car, we were facing your regular bum asking for money in return for his “assistance” in helping you park the car. He was all wrapped up in old rags, soaked by the rain that fell gently but incessantly from Lisbon’s sky. His teeth were yellow and rotten, that is, the few teeth he still had. His hair was wet and dishevelled and looked so dirty that I can only imagine he hadn’t washed it in weeks. It’s impossible to know what sorts of creatures inhabited the brown hank, yet a louse or two could almost certainly be found in there. His gaze was stupid and unfocused, dimmed by the drugs that flowed up and down his body as well as those consumed in the past. It reflected the deterioration of his humanity, swiftly replaced by the condition of drug addict.

            That man, who might’ve been someone’s son or maybe even a dedicated student in the past, had been reduced to shame and indignity by his poor choices.  It was a sad cautionary tale to be observed countless times all over the city in the form of sub-men who spend their days “helping” people to park their cars in exchange for a few coins.

After giving him some coins, we entered inside the mall, heading towards the cinemas. After looking t the list of movies shown we made our choice. We decided to watch the newest American blockbuster to hit the Portuguese movie theatres. After buying our tickets, and having some time to kill, we decided to go have something to eat while we waited.

            After heading to the restaurant are, we faced the customary array of choices: McDonalds, Burger King, KFC, Pizza Hut and a few other less well-known chains.

            You would think that we were in some mall in some generic town in the US, except we were not. Americana Exports: the American dream had finally conquered Portugal, and it consisted of hamburgers made with meat of genetically modified cows, French fries produced in industrial quantities and carcinogen soft drinks.

‘Do you think we would be able to identify the animals utilized to make hamburgers?’ I asked Alexandre, while I unwrapped my cheeseburger.  We had decided to eat at McDonalds, guided by Alexandre’s sudden urge to eat a Big Mac.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Alexandre, while taking a big chunk of his Big Mac with a starving first bite.

‘Well, don’t you think it’s possible that McDonald’s cows might have like three eyes and five paws, characteristics developed by artificial alimentation and the injection of hormones? And what about the chickens, four times the size of their natural counterparts, incapable of moving, let alone of laying eggs. And if by some miracle they managed to lay an egg I bet the pouts that came out of it would have scales and extra limbs and would come in all sorts of extravagant colours like gree or purple. McPouts, the next stage in evolution.’  

‘Leo, you could have said so if it bothered you so much to come here.’

‘No… I’m just saying what comes to mind. After all, I don’t think that the food in Burger King or KFC would be much healthier  than the food here… It’s just that sometimes I think about things like this when I come to these places…’

‘I know… and actually I think that you’re probably right about some of those things… Mc pouts, maybe they would become a huge success if they decided to sell them to kids! Can you imagine all the bimbos buying McPouts for their bimbo kids all over the world? Man… if you think about it, about all these malls and fast food places, and bimbos and McPouts, it’s hard not to feel sorry fo r the world…’

‘Christ man, just look around and pay attention to our surroundings. There’s no better place to analyse modern European and Portuguese society than a freakin shopping mall.

Lisbon, the city of the seven hills, the hometown of Pessoa and Queiros, the docks of which waved goodbye, to later receive them with open arms and immense pride, the greatest navigators in the history of mankind. Discoverers of the world beyond European shores. Heroes for all of eternity.

Therese days you can’t walk around Lisbon more than twenty minutes without bumping into a shopping mall like this one we’re at right now. I can almost imagine the great poet Camoes, eye patch and all, devouring a Big Mac and inhaling Coca-Cola through a white straw with red stripes. McCamoes, McLusiads,McLusitania.

You know that if there’s a guy in the world who despises all nationalist notions I’m that guy. And yet, even I feel a certain nostalgia when I think of Camoes, nurturing and honing the Portuguese language through the narrative of the great deeds of a once independent, proud and dynamic nation.

Perhaps nostalgia is not the right word…since I never lived in those distant times, yet I can fathom, how it might have been like and I feel envious… yeas maybe that is the right word; envy of Camoes and his proud people. It is ugly, horrendous even, to   witness the death of a culture and this is exactly what this is all about. In these times we live in we have no choice but to witness the slaughter, slow and painful, of the Portuguese culture.

And yet, if it was only Portugal what was at stake, painful and sad as it might be, I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over it. After all, Portugal is but a small country at the edge of Europe. In the XIX century, the great Eca de Queiros was already announcing, through his magnificent literary work, the obvious and inevitable Portuguese decadence.

Today, however, a different phenomenon engulfs us, every day more vast and intense. Practically the whole world finds itself in this  same sad situation for there is one culture that, not unlike the Roman legions in the ancient  world and the European conquerors of the XVI and XVII centuries, is determined to subjugate all the peoples that cross its path.

There is no icon that better symbolizes that culture than a shopping mall I think. Look at us now, eating fat food, going shopping, consuming everything we can, stuffing our minds with American blockbusters. Forget about the Gulbeikian, the Fado houses, or the monuments in Belem. The new centres of culture in this city are the big shopping malls, Colombo, Vasco da Gama, El Corte Ingles, as Amoreiras, etc…

In the whole of Europe, as well as beyond its borders the same thing repeats itself. In the Spanish-speaking America, in Brazil, in Asia, in Africa or Australia the new generations grow up in front of televisions that show American movies, American series, American reality shows and other such things. We listen to music in English, we read books in English and we play a lot of American video games. The millenary cultures of Europe, Africa and Asia have been relegated to the second division of world culture, whilst the young men and women of the XXI century undergo a process of Americanization. It’s no accident that, at each day that passes, English consolidates itself more and more as the language of the world. Hollywood, TV series, MTV, McDonalds, Coca-Cola, Marvel, DC Comics, ESPN are all different components of the great American-worldwide-brainwashing-machine.

   And here we are, having dinner at McDonalds, eating hamburgers made of genetically modified meat, killing time until the start of our American blockbuster. We are the sons of modernity, children of the nineties, the new generation, American bastards. We have been indoctrinated, immersed in an hegemonic foreign culture to the extent that we are tempted to forget our own.’

‘I know exactly what you mean Leonardo, I feel the same way you do sometimes. Yet look at us now, criticizing the process you call Americanization, while we eat at McDonalds? I think we don’t have the legitimacy to talk. We’re a well of contradictions us two. I mean, who would you say our heroes are? Tyler Durden of course…’

‘Neo…’

‘Brad Pitt and Edward Norton…’

‘Chuck Palahniuk…’

‘Irvine Welsh and Charles Bukowsky…’

‘Jack Kerouac…’

‘Alan Moore, Tarantino. Johnny Depp, Kurt Cobain, etc. etc, etc… Not a single one of them is Portuguese, a few are British but the vast majority are American. All are key cultural influences that come from the English-speaking world, in particular from the United States’, said Alex before swallowing the last chunk of his Big Mac.

‘I know, that’s precisely what I mean. It’s not exactly a criticism directed towards the United States it’s more like a criticism to the rest of the world; a critique of Portugal and the Portuguese people. Our culture has become so conformist that we have decided to let the US do everything for us whilst we forget to produce our own forms of cultural expression…’ I said, venting out my frustration.

‘Leo, have you thought that maybe we just have to conform to the status quo, to how things are, like the “normal people” do? Now it’s my turn to tell you Leo, look around you. Look at all these families, maybe they’re not happy, but they’re content, conformed. They work all week long and then, as a reward to themselves, they come here with their children, with their wives or girlfriends, and they watch a movie and they forget how miserable and insignificant their lives really are. Sk one of them if they care about cultural wars, intellectual dignity or existential issues… most of them would look at you as if you were an alien form outer-space if you did. Maybe we outta take the “dumb pill” and leave these issues alone. Maybe we outta just enjoy our hamburgers and our movie and try to be happy like that’.

‘What can I say Alex, except that you’re probably right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me and this brain of mine, always too willing to venture into the great mysteries, to lose itself in the deserts of existence, to fight metaphysical battles. This mind, incapable of acceptance, and this spirit, unwilling to conform. I always have to be analyzing and criticizing and I’m never happy. I must always dream with utopias, I’m incapable of accepting things the way they are, in their imperfect form. Damn inquisitive brain of mine, go to hell spirit of ambition!

I wish Alex, I could gladly accept the death of my culture. I wish I could stop thinking about these issues. I wish I couldn’t see the fact that this country has become a cultural colony of the USA. I wish I didn’t feel a knot in my stomach every time I come here abd I see all these people going from one fancy foreign shop to the next, paying for brand clothes because it makes them feel as if they were better than the people that don’t have brand clothing. I wish I could just sit here and munch  Big Mac without placing a thought on how this food got here, without thinking about the destruction of millenary rain forests, about the brutal treatment of the cattle, without having nightmares with a clown dressed in yellow and red laughing at the sound of the Apocalypse.  I wish I could just sit the fuck down in my comfy chair in the fucking theatre and watch this week’s blockbuster until my mind goes numb.’

‘Well, maybe you can try doing that now Leo, it’s time to go,’ said Alex, eating the last two French fries left on his tray and getting up to go to the theatre.

‘Sure, I’m coming…’