There is a classist instinct in Madrid that tends to believe that the provincials were the hicks who arrived with a basket of chickens in Atocha with a piece of paper in their hands asking a guard for an address. That you cannot be a provincial being from Madrid. A foolishness that emanates from the capital, which increases with the class when that Madrilenian is on the right and represents the privilege of the rich and which becomes immeasurable when the pride that power grants is added. Ayuso represents everything: capital, class and power. She is quite a provincial. From Madrid, but provincial. Senior representative of a supremacism with pretenses that does not have the entity to conform itself as a first-class nationalism because it is always subjugated to the Spanish.
Ayuso did not know how little is said about Madrid in New York and Washington. He had to go to get a book of photos on Fifth Avenue to know that in the US neither she nor Madrid matter to anyone. The guided tour of the Capitol has served as the epitome of a road movie Funny that Ed Wood had signed. Not everything has been an embarrassing failure. The most expensive propaganda album financed with public money in our history has served its purpose: that at the Pablo Casado convention they talk about indigenism and question the leadership of his boss, so she and MAR take it for granted.
Ayuso has had the American epiphany, as Fernández Díaz had in Las Vegas, and he returns to Madrid to enlighten us so that glosses about the Madrid miracle are scripted in Hollywood. The poor thing still did not know – and she has had to feel it on her own skin because reading it did not provide her with a trip with paid expenses – that in the great metropolis Madrid it is not known to put on the map and that Spanish is only the language of the poor, of those who serve them hot dogs and they clean the huge single-family homes for the white Americans. It has cost us good bitches for the lady to find out what everyone already knew.
Ayuso’s provincialism, accustomed to giving cocky lessons to other regions, has been left naked when leaving Aranjuez arriving with the arrogance of her cocky nationalism to a place where she is nobody. Nor is it too much where it thinks it is. Ayuso is only a well-controlled marketing product in a dramatic historical conjuncture aided by the propaganda of media well watered with money and future promises. Seeing her taking photos in New York helps to understand it, but the character is just as pathetic with Cibeles in the background.
Ayuso lives in a reverie created by the oracle at his side. It is normal that she believed that when she arrived in New York they would be waiting for her with flowers and flags, the salons of Wall Street would be opened and the media would flock to meet her at the airport. The image of the press conference in front of a plant with six national microphones from which they used to hide their miseries and magnify their crumbs was evidence that the trip was just a very expensive set for their propaganda.
The admiration of these embarrassing shows to which MAR performances with his Sarah Palin de saldillo accustom us does not have to make us lose perspective. The hubris syndrome that emerges in the president together with her megalomania and national-populist fondness are a winning formula. Watching these ridiculous Trumpians of the anarcoliberal muse with eyes wide open does not mean that they harm her. The absence of critical thinking of the ayulievers makes only zombie thinking operate. Long live my owner, just for being something I am from Madrid. No matter what she does or how, they adore her and use her as a delusional instrument of a sociopathic politics that sees in her the opportunity to demolish the ruins of the welfare state. Meanwhile, she favors checking accounts and the privileges of the rich and investment funds, of which they have been in command all their lives, which are always the same, in Madrid and New York.