Torre Pacheco, a pawn in the game

"Is the war over yet?" It's Thursday, July 17th, and a regular customer's joke breaks the silence on the bar's terrace. The residents of Torre Pacheco know they're being watched, among other things, because several pairs of reporters from Murcia, Madrid, and even Lisbon, like their Portuguese colleagues from CNN International, are stationed in the scant shade provided by the modern city hall building. "There's nothing here anymore," says a young local journalist, a Pacheco native by birth. A rally is scheduled for that same Thursday at 8 p.m., but, as the mayor just explained, Wednesday's rally was already a failure.

“We're clear they're using us,” explains one of the postmen who delivers in the area. No one spends that much time on the street, and he's been doing it for a long time. In shops and bars, it's easier to get answers as an anonymous passerby than as a journalist. “Some and others have come here to sell their story,” the postal worker reasons, “YouTube artists to record their videos, and the media to tell their story, but everything's calmed down now.”

"We are clear that they are using us," explains one of the postmen who delivers in the area.

Authorities have announced that the police presence deployed in response to the incidents following the brutal attack on Domingo Tomás will continue over the weekend. "Here, on Saturday and Sunday, the Spanish people all go to the beach, to La Manga, or to the tennis club pool," the postman notes. Torre Pacheco occupies a unique physical space, an island amidst the crops—the scent of fertilizer in its streets gives it away—yet just minutes from exclusive golf courses and a renowned tourist destination like La Manga del Mar Menor.

Arriving by car from Murcia, the accumulation of greenhouses—that sea of plastic so common in the rural areas of southern Alicante, Murcia, and Almería—explains why the presence of North African workers is so common in these towns, reaching 30% of the population in Torre Pacheco. You don't need to consult the statistics to see this, because the clothing of many of the women walking through the town's sweltering central streets betrays it. They show no interest in discussing the matter.

Yes, one of the young men sitting in the shade of the trees in Plaza Tánger does. He sports a short goatee and identifies himself as a Moroccan born in the town. “People came from outside looking for trouble, and since they didn't find it here”—he gestures around—“they went to the San Antonio neighborhood and there, of course, they defended themselves.”

The young man acknowledges that during those first few days of the week, he and his friends refrained from gathering where they are today, just in case. On Thursday, the police presence was already unnoticed by passersby; only a single patrol of the Local Police and another of the Civil Guard—whose understaffing has been reported in recent days and which the authorities have promised to reinforce—were driving around in their respective vehicles; there were no access controls to the town.

"It's all politics, my friend," one says. "There are a lot of people here who work, and some who get into trouble, like everywhere."

A retired British couple is strolling in front of the tourist office. They know what's happened from the news, but they insist that's not why they're here. They're regulars in the area, where they came attracted by the opportunity to play golf year-round, although now, they say, "it's too hot." "Have you already been to Torre Pacheco?" "Yes, because of the melons," she smiles, "they're really good now."

And indeed, this is the land of melons, and it's the season to eat them. They're found in the fruit shops downtown and in those we find on Avenida de la Estación, where the tallest buildings have two floors and on either side, butcher shops, tea shops, bazaars, and grocery stores call out to their customers in Arabic and Latin characters. On these terraces, occupied exclusively by men, they can tell that the new customer is a journalist even before they identify themselves. "It's all politics, friend," says one. "There are a lot of people who work here, and some who get into trouble, like everywhere," summarizes another. Regarding the incidents: "If you go looking for a fight, you'll find a fight, it's normal."

None of them say they know the 19-year-old young man of Moroccan origin, allegedly the perpetrator of the attack, a resident of the town although his documentation proves that he lived in Barcelona at some point, detained in the Basque Country, and that in the hours prior to his violent attack on a neighbor that triggered the riot, he had assaulted a local police officer and attempted a robbery, while he is pending trial in Cartagena for another similar matter.

This is one of the complaints several residents voice in an impromptu gathering outside a pharmacy near Calle Mayor: "There are some people everyone knows. They get arrested, but they go in one way and out the other," says a middle-aged woman. They fear that the name Torre Pacheco will be associated with insecurity and racism for a long time to come. "Facebook is crazy these days," notes a young woman, "I keep getting terrible answers."

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After the anti-racist rally on Friday at noon, the television crews who have been staying at a hotel in Los Alcázares since Tuesday are packing up to return to their headquarters, awaiting their next destination. On local radio stations, the events in Torre Pacheco are shaping the debate over the approval of the regional budget: Vox is stirring up trouble, the PP is calling for calm, the PSOE is offering a pact that excludes the far right... Torre Pacheco is a pawn in a game being played far away.