Wednesday, December 8

Bye! It doesn’t matter! … Step

And having more ideas increased their sufferings

Gustave Flaubert

A childish and out of place phrase pronounced by Isabel Díaz Ayuso in the Madrid camera, as if he was still playing in El Hormiguero or worse because he had not dared there, is capable of summarizing the state of things a decade after Sol’s camping trip : It’s not that they don’t represent us, it’s that they don’t even try. In many things Ayuso is like a compendium, a universal and indisputable summary of the point of no return to which things have reached. The awful thing about Ayuso is that he thinks about it, but what is telling is that he still says it with a kind of wicked candor. Other elected representatives act in the same way even though they are careful not to verbalize it: “It doesn’t matter, step, see you later.” Or what happened in Congress on Thursday?

I am not coming, you will understand, to talk to you about Ayuso but to tell you how democracy becomes sandstone between the fingers of this generation of politicians and how it throws itself into the air between puffs and sips of a degeneration of journalists and any counterweight flies in the air, any formal or informal control, what remains of what identifies a system based on the sovereignty of the people and on decency.

The president of Madrid appeared before the Assembly in function of parliamentary control of her government action. Democratic base. They asked him about something as painful as the deaths of the elderly in the residences of Madrid without being taken to a hospital to try to save them. A matter of gravity that she addressed in an entertainment program stating: “each corpse was treated with affection and respect.” It would be more, ma’am! Anyone could have told him that the respect demanded of him was with those still alive, with those who had the same right as others to be treated in a health center, that the dead, the only thing missing! What were they going to do? Desecrate them? Drive a stake over them? But all that attempt to control a misty and guilty management took it off him with a spoiled phrase, “See you later .. it doesn’t matter … step”, and a cool movement lowering the microphone that in other times would have deserved a glove. of any parent with two fingers. Running away from responsibility never deserved applause, until now. Democratic control of a chamber no longer exists. Delenda est democracy.

Nor does the formal control of the Congress foreshadowed in the Spanish Constitution already exist and we saw it in the strange case of the clamps in the endorsement of the candidate Arnaldo. Not only because parliamentary control declined before the formal obligation to vote what is morally inadmissible, but also because the informal control of the press, which was in charge of airing the miseries of a PP factotum that everyone in the legal world already knew, did not have any consequence. Reporting a candidate’s anomalies before a congressional vote was useless. Reporting corruption within the CGPJ with all kinds of evidence and documentation, as I did in Judge Gadea’s Carrot or Marchena’s Daughter, does not achieve anything other than the internal turmoil of the sector and the congratulations for the bajinis. More than a decade ago at least Dívar fell. They denounce that there are politicians who have received master’s degrees as gifts without their pulses having shaken when creating documents to cover it up and journalists almost end up with feathers before the corrupt ones. The control of the fourth estate has died even as it tries to continue to carry out its work in a rigorous and documented way. Other times it is renounced from the beginning and the media end up with false stories, with the appearance of not being true, that no one tries to even confirm until some sufferer dismantles them, so pathetic. That happened this week with the guy who claimed to have been in a coma for 35 years even though he had even had children in the meantime. It does not matter, everything does not matter. And if it doesn’t matter, why not come in, eh? In 2004 Bernardino Hernando wrote: “Nobody speaks worse of the journalistic profession than journalists themselves, but the vast majority would go back to being journalists if they were born again. Because we like to write and we like to influence society.” Too many years have passed for too many of us who are willing to continue subscribing to it. If everything does not matter, there is only “see you later!” Colleagues.

Everything has changed so much in the last ten years that today we can say with certainty that neither of the pandemic we came out better nor of the 15-M either. I do not know if those of then represented us but it is obvious that those of now do not do it better. Married he is not Calígula nor those who have laughed at him either. There are those who consider that Caesar did not want to appoint his horse Incitatus consul out of pure madness but as a cruel and sarcastic joke full of contempt for the servility and vileness into which the senators of his time had fallen. It is unlikely that Enrique Arnaldo is out for careers or that the finesse of the opposition leader’s satire will go down in history. Nor does it seem typical of people on the left to join the cum finis est licitus, etiam media sunt licita of the theologian Busenbaum who has cost the Jesuits so much to wash their annals but when they voted pinched they were also saying: “See you later … it doesn’t matter … step”, in their own way.

Democracy is based on a system of formal and informal checks and balances and on the perhaps crazy idea that voters are going to elect the fittest, the most honest, the most honest, the most dedicated to the service of the common good. Given that such premises have collapsed, nothing remains in reality but representation. The constitutional renewal of the magistrates of the Constitutional Court in Congress is “a little theater”, according to the groups that left the hemicycle not to participate and politics is an anthill game and complaints about dishonesty are lost in the lava and the strange dithyrambs that serve us. The Panama papers of the Nobel Prize do not exist even if they bear his signature or the accounts in Vaduz or Belize or the next paradise of the monarch in nothing end and not even the Justice gets dirty to put order. Ayuso is the only one who, in her carelessness, in her gedeonada, shows us that they are naked, but she is not alone in the uncovering. Others dress him up with a story that in the end continues to be a “see you later, Lucas” covered in deception.

I’m about to tell you that I’m fed up, see you later, it doesn’t matter, what happened, but unfortunately it’s not true. That is why I write, because I like it and because I want to influence society. That is why I would go back to being a journalist even if I mourn it for days.



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