Fifty farmers have blocked the A-4 and A-42 highways in Madridejos (Toledo) since Tuesday at 6 in the morning, an essential road junction for Castilla-La Mancha. They say it is “Don Quixote's tractor-trailer”. In the background you can see some mills converted into tourist attractions. Next to the tractors is an Osborne bull. They are of all ages, there are only two women. Some have spent the night on the road. They come from neighboring towns and are dedicated to olive groves, cereals, grapes, almond trees or pistachios. “There is no more water here.” Some are self-employed and have their own farm. Others work as wage earners and on weekends they cultivate their own land. The countryside is their livelihood. The diagnosis is unanimous: “We can't take it anymore.” The two words that are repeated the most: “Fair prices.”
They have planted their tractors in the middle of the highways that connect Madrid and Andalusia, and Ciudad Real with Toledo. Hundreds of trucks are blocked. There is no escape. “We let the ambulances pass and whoever has to go to the doctor, show us the appointment or a report and we open it,” says Carlos Gallego. Every hour they remove their tractors for about ten minutes to allow a few dozen vehicles to circulate. The transporters greet them, as a sign of support, when they pass by the tractor unit. “We are all in the same boat,” Carlos boasts. Then they close traffic again.
They have brought some dry vines. They light them in the median of the road, “so as not to make a mess.” This is how they warm up. It has just dawned and the temperature is 4 degrees. Jesús Rodríguez, wearing a John Deere cap, recounts the main problem they face: the prices they are paid in the cooperatives. “We are selling at quantities from thirty years ago. I'm going to give an example: they pay me 200 euros for a ton of cereal, when something fair should be about 300 euros at this moment. He assures that it is the large farms that set prices based on the muscle they have and that ends up suffocating small and medium-sized farmers. “That's why there are times when we don't reach the cost price,” adds Carlos Gallego, who has become a kind of spokesperson for the La Mancha tractor unit.
“I would like to talk about the subsidies, for which some people criticize us,” says Jesús Rodríguez. “We take them, of course, and they are necessary because without them we could not function. But they have existed all our lives, before it was called compensation, so that people know that we need them.” Félix Pérez, who works for a large farm and, in addition, has his own land, states that one of the most powerful tractors at the demonstration could cost 200,000 euros and that the subsidy could be around 70,000 euros.
The most controversial issue arises in the tractor: unfair competition from non-EU countries. The protesters' criticism is mainly directed towards Morocco. Félix Pérez presents the figures: “A worker's salary here [this is how farmers are defined] is around 1,200 or 1,500 euros per month, about 63 euros per hour; In Morocco it is 300 euros per month.” Conclusion: “Companies are going to produce there and we cannot compete.” Where you can confront them: “In quality, with demanding regulations from outside.”
Carlos Gallego is more critical. “Where are we going to end up?” he asks himself. He points out that, while they fight for “fair prices”, the port of Valencia has received tons of cereal from Ukraine and Argentina. “That's impossible.” “Those products that are choking us pass along this same road,” adds Félix Pérez, pointing to the asphalt. The self-proclaimed spokesperson proposes a possible solution: “That by law our prices be raised every year in relation to the increase in costs and inflation.”
Another controversial issue that protesters criticize: bureaucracy. They are very critical of the requirement to implement a digital notebook in which to track agricultural exploitation. “Now we keep it in a field notebook but going digital implies an unaffordable cost for many,” says Félix Pérez. “We will have to hire an advisor or an agronomist to help us,” adds Jesús Rodríguez.
Vicente Dorado is one of the oldest protesters of the tractor group. “All life in the countryside, from Monday to Sunday during the campaigns, whether it is hot or cold, and if it rains we have to stop.” He says that “people are very fed up” because “those who make the laws are sitting in an armchair” and do not know the day-to-day life of agriculture. He remembers that in 2020 they already demonstrated due to price problems and competition from other countries. “Why do we have to export our products and Spaniards buy from abroad? "It just doesn't enter my head, it's incomprehensible." “We are not saying that they do not sell foreign products, but that they comply with the regulations,” he adds. On his tractor he has placed a piece of cardboard where you can read “Spanish oil and not export oil.”
In Don Quixote's tractor unit, no political positions are evident. “We love you,” say those gathered. They were called by WhatsApp and in just 24 hours they were organized. There is even a lunch area next to the highway. A group of farmers prepares a paella. Some protesters do cite the 2030 Agenda as the epicenter of the ills of the agricultural sector.
In the land of the ingenious hidalgo, the scenes of Alcarràs are also reproduced. They tell it in the tractor unit. Neighbors who have stopped cultivating their land in recent years to install solar panels. “It's a temporary solution, but what are we going to do? Plant all of La Mancha with plates? And what do we eat?” asks Carlos Gallego.
The question that arises in the La Mancha tractor unit is how long they will be on the road. How long will the protests continue? This Thursday, the spontaneous rallies will be joined by those called by representative agricultural organizations. “I don't know how long we will be there, but if it is necessary to go to Madrid to protest, I will go,” warns Jesús Rodríguez. Gallego is more pessimistic: “We can't keep this off for a long time because people have to work,” he says, pointing to the stopped trucks. Two Civil Guard agents walk, meanwhile, among the tractors.
The fuse of the countryside has been lit and La Manchadeep is one of the epicenters of the protest. They say that what they have seen in Europe is the straw that broke the camel's back. They no longer have patience. Their hands, their hoes and their tractors are essential for Spanish refrigerators and pantries. “Fair prices,” they ask while they return the umpteenth honk of a truck driver with applause.
