The Berlangian soap opera filmed on Rue Ferraz is already the most grotesque satire which shows the collapse of a banal way of doing politics. Because who would have thought that this messianic leader came to regenerate democracy in this country … the corrupt were going to be surrounded by the most sordid scandals, transforming the headquarters of the PSOE into a sanctuary of the greatest moral turpitude and the shame of others. Because sanchismo is the best metaphor for the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Where the champion of feminist history pampered and protected his senior plumber until scandal broke, a slut (allegedly always) who dropped his fly and complimented his colleagues’ butts. This champion against prostitution is the son-in-law of a man who owned establishments where people paid for sex. This champion of the defense of women was the same one who gave full powers to a regular client who connected high-ranking “friends” in public companies and who spoke obscenely about them with party leaders: “Carlota is making a mess.”
This forger with the aura of a martyr to “lawfare” and the hoaxes of the right-wing media ended up becoming the high priest of hypocrisy, celebrating masses with his back to the people, hidden in a sacristy of cynicism where every day the litany of the inexcusable is rewritten, addressed to the entourage of applauders who recite the Sanchist creed like an irrefutable dogma: “I knew nothing”, “I didn’t know.” him.” personally.” And, of course, he will take responsibility “in the first person”.
From the pulpit of impudence, Sánchez personally assumed his responsibilities by excommunicating from the herd the second-rate advisors who had accompanied him since the beginning of the Peugeot trip to Dos Hermanas. The latter is now called the “Moncloa Mason”. Antonio Hernández, from Seville, was his special guru since he began preaching in the desert. And, reciting his parable of betrayal, he eliminated from the equation his venerable surveyor as a firewall against the enormous fire ravaging the lodge.
This is how this Grand Master of crime spends it, who conspires with the square and compass, swallowing up his own followers to continue displaying the big G (Great Architect and Gulf). There are fewer and fewer aprons remaining in this initiatory faith whose supreme rites are lubricating and the Ionic columns which support it are made of papier-mâché. Because the lodge collapses on the black and white checkerboard of good and evil, where only the latter remains. A razed temple, in the middle of Callejón del Gato, today called Ferraz. There Pedro continues, pontificating among the rubble, playing with the concave mirrors of Valle-Inclán to justify the absurdity as an allegory of what he has converted to his party.
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