PalmIn the Balearic Islands, there is a shortage of doctors. And nurses. And anesthesiologists. And pediatricians. And gynecologists. There is a shortage of hands, a shortage of minds, and a shortage of staff. There are public hospitals where on-call coverage for some specialties isn't guaranteed, where certain specialties simply can't be offered; there are centers where births are referred elsewhere because there isn't enough staff, and now there is an announced doctors' strike which, beyond the legitimate labor reasons, will end up swelling waiting lists that are already driving patients to despair. The diagnosis is becoming serious, but treatment is pending.
At this point, it's not being resentful—or even particularly nostalgic—to remember how many times we felt that Catalan was to blame for this shortage of doctors. That if professionals weren't coming to the Islands, it was because they were required to know their own language. That the language requirement was an insurmountable barrier, a kind of bulwark with an open accent. The party now in power and all those who bought into their narrative without questioning it for a second repeated it over and over.
The reality, however, we know was far less dramatic, because in the Balearic Islands, Catalan was never a truly exclusionary requirement for public healthcare, not even when it was mandated by law, by the law passed by the left-wing coalition when it was in power. The reality is that healthcare workers were given years to learn Catalan, and there was no check to see if they had actually done so. But the narrative of "we want good doctors, who can heal, even if they don't speak Catalan" worked, like a test that was translated into reality on the street. A convenient scapegoat was identified, the debate was shifted, easy and efficient opposition was mounted, and, incidentally, the Catalan language was discredited.
It's no coincidence that one of the first measures taken by Marga Prohens' government in August 2023, just weeks after coming to power, was to eliminate the Catalan language requirement for working in the public healthcare system. Perhaps it was even the first measure taken by the current government, as if to burn it, as if the language jeopardized everyone's health. But with that decision, patients were denied the right to be treated in the territory's own language, one of the two official languages—which is why it's worth remembering—and the idea was promoted that, now, there would be enough healthcare workers, and good ones at that.
Now, there's a shortage of doctors and nurses, and it's not because of Catalan. It's because of the exorbitant cost of housing, job insecurity, excessive workloads, poor planning, or because coming to work in the Balearic Islands doesn't offer enough incentives to compensate for the difficulties of living there. It's due to a management that hasn't known how—or hasn't wanted—to address the underlying problem. And this is where it's worth recalling that narrative. Because it wasn't just false: it was highly irresponsible. Because it served to deny rights, to engage in shoddy politics with an essential service, and to make the language a scapegoat. Now that silence has replaced those absurd arguments, now that it's no longer in their interest to repeat them, it's time to say it clearly: it was never about Catalan, but they won't go back.
