Plastic Sea, Perfect Storm
The dry, desert landscape just behind the touristy coastline of southern Spain is home to an immense complex of plastic greenhouses, where more than 3.5 billion kilos of vegetables and fruit are grown and traded, eventually ending up in European supermarkets. The area combines plastic waste and undocumented migrants with Spanish traditions and sun-loving tourists. Many of these migrants work and live in the greenhouses under difficult and uncertain conditions: during the hottest periods of the year, temperatures can climb up to 50 degrees Celsius, forcing the workers into night shifts six days a week, while many of them do not have residency permits, which makes them even more vulnerable. This documentary project reveals how lawlessness, pollution, climate change, right-wing nationalism, as well as an economy driven by profit and growth are all closely intertwined — an accumulation of problems that may well lead to more widespread tensions in society in the long run.
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In the hills former Moorish forts overlook small towns and villages. Most local industry and jobs revolve around agriculture.
Transformation
Traditionally, people have made their homes on hills and mountains, or along rivers: places where water was readily available and the land could be easily defended. During the 1960s, the fascist regime in Spain decided to move people from poor mountain regions to this arid plain. In order to make this steppe suitable for intensive cultivation, part of the river Tague was re-routed to the south. This was meant to lead to the so-called Miracle of Almería. Today, the small mountain streams are supplemented by dozens of desalination plants that convert salt water into fresh water, which is more beneficial to humans, plants, and animals.
The area where tumble weeds were still rolling across the plain forty years ago, has now been filled with greenhouses, packaging facilities, plastic producers, logistic centres, parking areas for lorries, and roadside restaurants.
Antonio Pedro eats candy floss his father bought him before the Holy Week procession.
The painting depicts the moment in 1492 when the last Moorish ruler of Andalus was expelled from the palace after nearly 800 years of Muslim rule.
Recollections
The Spaniards have been in power in this area for a shorter period of time than the Islamic rulers of Al-Andalus (711–1492 AD) before them, and although this transfer of power took place many centuries ago, it is still triumphantly commemorated — for instance in the paintings at the Alhambra, the former sultan’s palace, or through historical reenactments in small villages. Modern graffiti on the walls of southern Spain also refers to this old conflict, with slogans like ‘Out with the Moors’ now mainly meant to target contemporary migrants: Moroccans and other Arabs or Africans. Right-wing extremist political parties use the history of the Reconquista, the Spanish conquest of southern Spain, as contemporary propaganda in their crusade against migration and Islam.
‘Moors out!’ – a derogatory reference to Moroccans – is written on a wall covered in far-right graffiti.
Each neighbourhood has its own space where the banners, costumes and statues used during Holy Week are stored.
“Make bell peppers and tomatoes just one cent more expensive… We’d have so much more money to clean up plastic, implement biological pest control and conduct more research. But that’s wishful thinking”.
Bolivian priest Roly after Sunday Mass in the dazzling white church of San Isidro, a former agricultural colony named after the patron saint of agriculture.
Plastic
Plastic is everywhere. In every bush, next to every grain of sand, in the air, and in the water. It slowly decomposes or blows away in the wind and gets stuck to the grass and scarce flowers that grow there. Anyone walking along these dumping sites for pulverised tarpaulin will experience both physical and mental suffocation. As if it were some kind of marsh, the plastic moves. Small particles of plastic jump up and are blown away. All this pollution makes you want to avoid this place.
Every year, we consume 965 billion kilograms of vegetables, with 6 billion kilograms of plastic as a by-product.
Plastic Sea
What would happen in Europe if this system of greenhouses were to grind to a halt one day? What if all kinds of vegetables and fruit imaginable were no longer available in our supermarkets all year round? How is it possible that a courgette grown two thousand kilometres away costs only 79 euro cents in the Netherlands? And how on earth can all these melons, cucumbers, and tomatoes grown on this arid steppe get enough water to become plump and juicy? This realistic portrait shows the other side of a system that to many people seems self-evident: the system of contemporary Europe, where abundance, cheap supply, and constant availability come at a hidden cost. Anyone travelling through this area is bound to be confronted with fundamental questions that at first glance appear to be simple.
Migrants
Less than half a century after the Spanish started to exploit this area, the original settlers have already moved on. They have been replaced by new immigrants from the south, people who try their luck here in search of a different existence. Some of them travelled around the entire Mediterranean to get here: first to Turkey and then continuing on land to join friends or relatives in southern Spain. It is estimated that 90 percent of the workers in the greenhouses are people with an African migration background, and for many African countries, the money they send home is a vital source of income.
This elderly Senegalese fisherman, sitting on a folding chair, is known as ‘Papa’. Being among the first generation of undocumented elderly migrants is not easy, he readily admits.
At the market, vendors from various African countries sell vegetables and clothing. “Watch out, no papers, no papers!” is shouted. Potato seller Bouba from Senegal does have legal documents.
As a Roma, Francisco has always been an outsider. He moved from farm to farm, working mainly in grape production, which preceded vegetable farming in the plastic sea.
Without rights
Many of the workers in the area are undocumented, which means that they have no legal safety net and cannot claim rights as set out in a collective labour agreement. Some of them live in old barns, but most use pallets and agricultural plastic to build small shacks near the greenhouses. The people who do this on privately owned land can never be sure their accommodation will still be there the next day, as mobs with bulldozers will sometimes demolish these small settlements to make way for new barns or greenhouses. The local government shows little concern for these labour migrants, even though they are vital to the area’s economy, and most support comes from the Red Cross and smaller help organisations.
Elbekkal lives in a solitary container on a dirt track between the greenhouses. He worked in the greenhouses for 14 years.
Back problems forced him to undergo surgery. Now he spends his days here without water or electricity, dependent on the Red Cross and a few friends who occasionally bring him food and drink.
Idrissa hopes to obtain asylum and financially support his family back home. “There’s a war in Mali,” he says with a small smile, by way of explanation.
“Problems arise when an employee is injured or ages and is no longer valuable to the employer”.
A migrant worker and union representative covers her face during a protest demanding better working conditions.
