Sunday, April 2

Today I want to confess… that I’m a bit tired

Without us being fans of Pantoja, as a result of their repeated corrupt practices, we couldn’t find a better epitaph to put on this hectic Benidorm Fest. Strass tit versus lactating tit. Language that seeks to universalize itself versus words that seek to vacuum-pack certain practices that we thought were obsolete.

All of Spain united as if the first satellite to the Moon were taking off from Badajoz, from which they snatch the location as if it were the power of the people to choose the place of takeoff.

In short, all these parables to say that the Benidorm Fest has made many people have a feeling of belonging to a large group. There were no apparent independence claims, there were not even slogans that shouted “Universal Basic Income!”. Simply artists of national significance with great careers behind them (of some more than others) betting on incorporating some social messages in a prime time in the most harmless way.

The night of Saturday, January 29, falls as if the 90,000 people who called to vote had been defrauded by actions of Nueva Rumasa. More than 72 hours of digital protests, two mornings occupying the media reports and mileurista worker cafes, in which they wanted to see heads roll as in the Middle Ages as a result of a disagreement in the popular vote and the jury of said festival. Which heads wanted to be socially decapitated? The ones that are seen, as always.

Thousands of insults to the candidate chosen by the jury reveal the racism integrated into society, misogyny and endless nonsense resulting from anger that are counteracted with supporting trending topics.

Contests continue to be spaces for subjective evaluations and, although I understand the discouragement, we cannot let ourselves be overwhelmed like this. Or yes, but in exchange for doing it also with the integration of more teachers in public schools, more health workers in our primary care centers and more demands in a decaffeinated labor reform that does not end up being a guarantee with the worker. The rest is still an opiate that, in this case, has made us feel bad.

We are a good society resigning ourselves, perhaps because of our historical trajectory. But it is clear that there is a weariness that goes beyond Chanel, and on this occasion the moral is that “just is not universal”.