Chinese work ethic tires Spanish

When Spanish workers in Elche, a longtime shoe-producing town in the coastal province of Alicante, set fire to several Chinese shoe warehouses three weeks ago, many feared that the incidents were motivated by anti-Chinese racism - a troubling sign of things to come. Placards scrawled with phrases like, "No Chinese!" and "Stop immigration!" at a protest six days after the vandalism fueled this perception.

But others suggest that the incidents have less to do with racism than with changes to Spain's economy.

As Spain struggles to become an economic power in Europe, immigrant laborers are increasingly coming into conflict with native workers who approach work and the workplace with very different attitudes.

Although the first Chinese immigrants arrived here in the early 20th century, their numbers have grown rapidly over the past two decades. Today it is estimated that there are between 50,000 and 100,000 living in Spain.

They may be causing resentment, however, not because of their numbers (there are far more North African and Latin American immigrants), but because many Spaniards feel that their economic practices threaten age-old social customs, employment norms, and labor relations in Spain.

This nativist anxiety is exacerbated by larger concerns over changing work patterns both in Spain, where regulations may even encroach upon the sacred siesta, and across Europe, where debates are brewing about standardizing Sunday and late-night work hours.

In particular, many Spaniards are frustrated by the increasing control Chinese immigrants have taken of grocery stores and other small businesses traditionally owned by Spaniards. These days, most have Chinese owners who keep the shops open on Sundays and late into the night.

Becaro Brothers is an exception; it is one of only a few grocery stores in La Latina neighborhood still run by Spaniards. "This store has been operating for more than a century and a half," says its owner Rosa, who emphasizes that it was always family owned, even when it sold just olive oil, butter, or chorizo. Rosa is set to retire in nine years, but she doesn't think her business will last that long.

"In the last year I've been approached at least five times by the Chinese, begging me to sell them the store." Although she would prefer to keep the business in her family, she notes that, "You have to work hard to make a store like this run, and hardly anyone can do it anymore, except the Chinese."

It's a feeling echoed at one of the neighborhood's other Spanish-owned groceries, La Gran Perla. "The Chinese work round the clock," says its owner, "never stopping for afternoon siestas or holidays or Sundays, and they're putting us out of business."

The Chinese, however, contend that they are simply practicing good business.

In an underground Chinese shopping corridor beneath Madrid's Plaza de España, Susana, a young mother from China, recalls why she immigrated. She came to Spain 12 years ago, she says, "because it looked beautiful in pictures."

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