SPANIARDS sneeze into their hands.

Nearly every one, on sensing the forthcoming surge of exhalation and mucus, lifts his hand of choice to his mouth and unapologetically deposits the resulting contents there.

I had viral infections twice this past semester.

A culture’s attitude toward health characterizes many of its values. Americans have the tendency to treat every surface as a petri dish requiring constant disinfection. Television commercials advertise every antibacterial cleaner imaginable, hand sanitizer bottles litter schools and workplaces, and we haggle our medical professionals for antibiotics at every sniffle.

We have a problem.

In Spain, the attitude is more relaxed. They use hand sanitizer infrequently; locating it to purchase can even be challenging. Televisions and homes aren’t subjected to constant antibacterial cleansing. And although I cannot confirm or deny antibiotic abuse, Spaniards don’t petri-dish-ify their world.

But cultural values are rarely isolated to single instances. In the United States, our clinical obsessions manifest themselves in elaborate, expensive healthcare systems and generous public funding for scientific research. Although Spanish healthcare impresses from an egalitarian perspective, it’s nothing special otherwise.

And their research is dismal.

The investigative sciences in Spain enjoyed relatively generous public funding under the Partido Socialista Obrero Español (Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party), which maintained majority control of the government until 2011. But when the Partido Popular (Popular Party) overtook it, the party of current Prime Minister Mariano Rajoy immediately crippled the national research budget.

In 2013, public research funding barely cleared 6 billion euros ($8 billion, at the time), or 0.6 percent of the Spanish GDP. This was Spain’s smallest budget in decades. And half was available as loans, which the scientific community has scathingly criticized. In the same year, the United States made $130 billion available, or 0.8 percent of our GDP. Congress had drastically cut research funding in the same period, from 1.0 percent in 2010.

Even worse, it would seem that the Spanish government barely spent half.

For 2016, the budget won’t surpass 6 billion euros (now, under $7 billion).

This semester, I had the privilege of interning in the dental laboratory of Dr. Mariano Sanz of the Complutense University of Madrid. There, I researched the formation of bacterial biofilms that characterize periodontitis, a common disease of the mouth. Working with the beautiful, odorous bichos three days every week, you could say we became friends.

But beyond laboratory techniques, the experience offered a glimpse into Spanish research culture. The investigative sciences in the Complutense University are parched. Public funding is insufficient and competitive, so laboratories must solicit financing from other sources. The Complutense’s own website recommends international groups, companies, and private organizations. A private company funds Dr. Sanz’s laboratory, at least in part.

When we revisit the numbers, this time including private funding, the disparity actually worsens. The United States pulls ahead to 2.8 percent of its GDP for public and private research spending in 2012, according to World Bank data. Spain sits at 1.3 percent. Among the world’s fifteen largest national economies, plus the European Union’s, this places Spain at twelfth for percentage of GDP, in the company of Italy, Brazil, and Russia. The United States is fourth.

Within dentistry, Spanish research has narrowed to solely clinical concerns. Dr. Sanz’s laboratory, which conducts basic research, is a bicho raro, or rarity, in dentistry, but even it leans clinical. Meanwhile, American dental research explores more diverse, clinical and basic themes.

The result is predictable. In measuring scientific output, Spain merits mention, but the United States towers as a beacon of leading technologies and breakthroughs, even after accounting for population size. The language of scientific publication has become exclusively English. With few exceptions, nearly all articles of high impact proceed from American or British journals.

This language barrier complicates Spanish research further. At a presentation session to evaluate the progress of the Complutense School of Dentistry’s graduate students, whose presentations were obligatorily in English, I struggled to understand a sizable number. This doesn’t bode well. For the students or for Spain. English has become the scientific standard, for better or worse.

However, Spain’s research has redeeming qualities. Funding often concentrates in grand centers of investigation, like the Centro Nacional de Investigaciones Científicas, for general science research, or the Centro Nacional de Investigaciones Oncológicas, for cancer research. These centers often take on clinical, societally applicable projects. And prominent researchers and clinicians have achieved worldwide recognition, like Dr. María Blasco, for her work on aging and cancer, and Dr. Mariano Sanz, for his contributions in periodontics.

Yet, for a world economic leader, Spain’s research lags behind.

What’s the solution? Well, the national government could direct more funding to the investigative sciences, but an effective government shutdown complicates that. (After Spaniards re-vote for Parliament this Sunday, we can re-evaluate.) Schools and universities could enforce stricter English proficiencies, but that, too, would require funding. The current conservative government betrayed its intentions there when it attempted to foot students with a greater share of the university bill. And the economic situation isn’t favorable to corporations and organizations.

But there’s hope.

The centrist political party Ciudadanos has promised to increase research funding to 3 percent of the GDP and encourage more young researchers. They vow to “promote the scientific culture in Spain.” The up-and-coming, leftist party Podemos has made similar promises, plus those to increase public access to scientific knowledge and incentivize the return of scientific talent that has emigrated. Both parties draw strong support from youth, which may indicate a cultural, generational shift. And eventually change.

As such, in the conflict of economic, political, and cultural interests, the resolution may lie in the oft-forgotten third: cultural values. I invite Spaniards to re-evaluate the role of investigative sciences in driving a nation’s economy, public health, and more. Spain has the talent to revolutionize international science. Although they need not adopt the United States’ germophobia as motivation, they might start with baby steps. Like hand sanitizer.

Or, my personal recommendation, by sneezing into the elbow.

Leer en español

This semester, I had a Spanish language class for which we had to research certain aspects of Spanish culture. I researched its humor and wrote this essay for that class. I publish the translation here after some edits.

Humor embodies a culture, reflecting its realities: the daily life, the language, the peculiarities, and the people. While in Spain, I experienced its humor directly in my conversations with others and through the media. Although some humor is universal, some is not. Curiously, Spaniards ridicule their stereotypes considerably, more so than in the United States, where political correctness curtails the humor.

In fact, Spanish stereotypes are strong.

According to my friend from Extremadura, the Andalusian is “someone funny and lazy.” — After saying it, he laughed. — “About the Catalans, it’s said that they’re miserly, and the Basques, perhaps, that they’re a little brutish.” Regarding the Madrileños, the model of my own Spanish development, “I can say one […]. In Extremadura, we say that they’re finolis, which is to say that they speak pronouncing every word correctly.” It could be worse.

A minute passed. “Well, we also say that they’re headstrong.” Alright.

An article published by ABC in 2014 titled, “Why the Madrileños have the reputation of being chulos,” used almost identical phrasing as my friend (“miserly,” “brutish,” and “lazy”). (Possibly because he sent me the article.) It also adds the additional Madrid stereotype of being chulos, or affected in clothing and behavior, because of the characters traditionally played in zarzuelas, or operas.

I wanted to investigate Spanish humor more profoundly. I watched the emblematic movie Eight Basque Surnames, which portrays an unexpected pairing: a Sevillian man and a Basque woman, in the context of the Basque independence movement. After her wedding falls apart, she pretends that the Sevillian is her Basque boyfriend, due to her father’s pressure to marry. The hilarity ensues in their efforts. I also watched this season of Big Brother VIP (the Spanish edition), a reality show in which various celebrities unite in an isolated house to compete for money. The contestants argue and receive “votes” from the public that permit them to remain in the house. The last man (or woman) standing wins.

Eight Basque Surnames directly leverages the Spanish stereotypes as its humor. The plot revolves around the improbable event that an Andalusian and a Basque would marry, given their regions’ differences. The first scene portrays a public argument between the two — with critiques and ridicules of each stereotype. In fact, before we began the movie, the parents of my homestay explained the political and social context of the humor to me, and they proceeded to bellow with laughter during the movie with each example of the stereotypes. They are pure Madrileños. I can’t know that they would react as such if they were Basques or Andalusians. But given the record-breaking popularity of this movie in Spain, the answer is probably yes.

In Big Brother, the stereotypes are subtler. For the most part, the humor arises from fights between the contestants, who suffer the house’s isolation. They argue over trivialities and provoke each other for the entertainment (and to receive votes). But occasionally stereotypes underscore the conflicts. In the final episode, the ex-contestant Alejandro confessed to the finalist Laura, excusing his inappropriate language, “It’s true that I have a big mouth. I apologize for my expressions because I’m from Andalusia, and, well, we Andalusians are not all the same […].” Regardless, my host parents laughed throughout the entire program, whether the jokes were stereotypical or not.

Spanish humor doesn’t rely solely on its stereotypes, but they play a central role. They underlie the very tension of Spanish existence: a nation of nationalist conflict, of regionalist and extremist political parties that would rather dismember it. And what reaction does such threatening tension produce? Humor. The media utilizes the unifying power of movies like Eight Basque Surnames and shows like Big Brother, in which Spaniards that represent the regions in conflict unite. They’re universally popular in the country (that is, popular in all regions). But in both examples, what results? What dominates the humor? The conflicts between the participants.

The Spanish humor that I’ve seen is a nervous one. It attacks the nation’s internal conflicts and ridicules their absurdity, but it does so with caution, conscious of the grave risks and the reality. I could never predict the nation’s future, which has never been predictable, but its humor provides us a clue: The fact that Spaniards can still ridicule each other’s differences suggests that Spanish humor will continue being Spanish humor — that is, of the Spanish nation intact.

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Jose Chávez Moreno, a student at the Polytechnic University of Madrid, contributed corrections to this text.

Read in English

Este cuatrimestre, yo tenía una clase de castellano en la que teníamos que investigar ciertos aspectos de la cultura española. Investigué el humor y escribí este ensayo para esa clase. Lo publico aquí con algunos cambios.

El humor representa una cultura, reflejando las realidades de ella: la vida cotidiana, el idioma, las particularidades y la gente. En España, yo experimentaba su humor directamente en mis conversaciones con otros y en los medios de comunicación. Aunque algunos aspectos del mismo son universales, otros no lo son. Lo curioso es que en España se burlan mucho de sus estereotipos, más que en los Estados Unidos, donde la corrección política restringe el humor.

De hecho, los estereotipos españoles son fuertes.

Según mi amigo de Extremadura, el andaluz “es alguien con gracia y vago.” — Después de decírmelo, se rio. — “De los catalanes se dice que son tacaños y de los vascos, quizás, que son un poco brutos.” Respecto a los madrileños, el modelo de mi propio desarrollo español, “puedo decir uno […]. En Extremadura, decimos que son ‘finolis,’ que quiere decir que hablan pronunciando todas las palabras correctamente.” Podría ser peor.

Un minuto transcurrió. “Bueno, también decimos que son gente un poco creída.” Vale.

Un artículo publicado por ABC en 2014 que se titulaba, “Por qué los madrileños tienen fama de ‘chulos,’” incluía casi las mismas palabras (“tacaños,” “brutos” y “vagos”) que usó mi amigo. (Quizás porque él me mandó el artículo.) También añade el estereotipo madrileño adicional de ser “chulo,” o afectado respecto a su indumentaria y comportamiento, a causa de los personajes representados antiguamente en zarzuelas.

Quería investigar el humor español más profundamente. Vi la emblemática película Ocho Apellidos Vascos, que trata de una pareja inesperada: un sevillano y una vasca, en el contexto del movimiento independentista vasco. Después de la cancelación de su matrimonio, ella finge que el sevillano es su novio vasco, debido a la presión de su padre para casarse. La hilaridad surge de sus esfuerzos. También, veía esta temporada de Gran Hermano VIP, un reality show en el que se unen varios famosos en una casa aislada para competir por dinero. Los concursantes discuten y reciben “votos” del público que les permiten quedarse en la casa. El último en la casa gana.

Ocho Apellidos Vascos aprovecha los estereotipos directamente como su humor. El argumento gira en torno al evento improbable de casarse un andaluz y una vasca, dadas las diferencias entre sus regiones. La primera escena es una discusión en público entre ellos — con críticas y bromas de cada estereotipo. De hecho, antes de que empezáramos la película, la señora y el señor de mi casa me explicaron el contexto político y social del humor, y seguían partiéndose durante la película con cada ejemplo de los estereotipos. Son madrileños puros. No sé si reaccionarían igual si fueran vascos o andaluces. Pero dada la popularidad insuperable de la película en España, la respuesta probablemente es sí.

En Gran Hermano, los estereotipos son más sutiles. Por mayor parte, el humor surge de las peleas entre los concursantes, quienes sufren el aislamiento de la casa. Discuten temas triviales y provocan a los otros por entretenimiento (y para recibir votos). Pero a veces los estereotipos subyacen los conflictos. En el programa final, el ex-concursante Alejandro le dijo a la finalista Laura, excusando su mal lenguaje, “Es verdad que tengo muy mala boca. [...] Te pido disculpas por mis expresiones porque yo soy de Andalucía, y, bueno, no todos los andaluces somos iguales [...].” Sin embargo, mis señores se reían durante todo el programa; no les importaban que los chistes surgieran de los estereotipos o no.

El humor español no depende únicamente de los estereotipos, pero tienen un papel clave. Subyacen la tensión de la existencia española: un país de conflicto nacionalista, de partidos políticos regionalistas y extremistas que quieren desensamblarlo. ¿Qué reacción se produce frente a una tensión tan amenazadora? El humor. Los medios de comunicación hacen uso del poder unificador de las películas como Ocho Apellidos Vascos o de los programas como Gran Hermano, en los que se unen españoles representativos de las regiones en conflicto. Son universalmente populares en el país (es decir, populares en todas partes). Pero en ambos ejemplos, ¿qué resulta?, ¿qué domina en el humor? Los conflictos entre los participantes.

El humor español que he visto es un humor nervioso. Ataca los conflictos internos y se burla del absurdo de ellos, pero lo hace con cuidado, consciente de los riesgos graves y de la realidad. Yo nunca podría predecir el futuro del país, el cual nunca se ha podido predecir, pero el humor nos provee una sugerencia: que los españoles todavía puedan burlarse de sus diferencias sugiere que el humor español seguirá siendo el humor español — es decir, del país español intacto.

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Jose Chávez Moreno, un estudiante de la Universidad Politécnica de Madrid, contribuyó con correcciones a este texto.