There was a time – it was 10:08 on all clocks – when we seemed to be a normal country and not, as Gil de Biedma would say, an old, inefficient country between two civil wars. asked Nacho Martín, who is not the “family doctor” but … a popular deputy. He did it with a correct tone, respectful forms and a sophisticated style that we believed buried in the legend of parliamentary etiquette. But the one who answered was Luis Planas, the “crooner” of the Turia, with his tailored suit, his polka dot tie, one hand caressing the other like Pavarotti holding that white handkerchief and the constant air of having just arrived from the San Remo festival and not from a stable infected with swine fever. And, without being Castelar, he is clearly out of step with the underworld that his party has become. If the room had windows, they would have opened at that moment and the petrichor would have renewed tons of air already breathed, full of invocations of Ouija and Rufián demanding to intervene in the agribusiness market, I suppose in favor of a new Holodomor. But these windows do not exist, so my gaze focused on Tejero’s shots, in case a ray of light entered there, like in Agrippa’s Pantheon, but in parts.
The PP deputies looked at each other, murmuring, with their mouths covered, like Mbappé speaking to Vinicius: “But who is he?” I thought the same thing. I had to look it up and it turned out that Mr. Martín’s name is Ignacio de Loyola – of course – he is from Barcelona and arrived from Ciudadanos. These types of profiles, now forgotten, are more necessary than ever. Because if the PP must show something, it is institutionality, a sense of the State and respect for forms. Parliamentary activity cannot be limited to seeing who is the most aggressive and, of course, it is not a question of changing left-wing thugs into right-wing thugs, that is to say, from weakness to weakness. The most confident profiles are those who do not need to demonstrate blood purity. And that’s why they’re not afraid to build. And his voice resonates.
Next, the Wagner battalion, with notable losses, but well represented by the usual strength. And he focused entirely on prostitution, on accusations of abuse, on Koldo, Ábalos, Cerdán and Salazar, on stepfather’s brothels, on Tito Berni, on socialist purges of feminists, on prostitutes hired by ministries and on family photos – that is – from official trips. And new, at the president of the Provincial Council of Lugo. Of course, also in the shame of the PSOE which covers everything and leaves the alleged victims hanging around to demonstrate, once again, that for them women are only an electoral segment. Which makes feminism an operational tool. And, with a few exceptions, no one believes a word of it.
Among those who believe in nothing, Ana Redondo. Let’s say in his favor that he has the worst job in the world; Being Minister of Equality for this PSOE is like being Vox ambassador in Morocco. Of course, not a single self-criticism, not an assumption of responsibility and not the slightest ounce of dignity. Sánchez defended himself in the worst possible way, that is, by saying that workplace harassment is something systemic that does not only happen in Moncloa and Ferraz. (Oh really). Feijóo, Ester Muñoz and Gamarra tried it, but ended up with an ineffective Sánchez, a borderline ridiculous Albares and a deranged Bolaños whose tone changes. It feels like this question is opening internal fissures and the arrogance of other mornings is giving way to a mixture of shame and resignation. His blows don’t hurt, he no longer defends causes with faith and ill-intentioned people would say that he is ready to see the other side fall. And everything already has a sepia tone at the end of the cycle. “Your time is up,” Feijóo said. “Don’t be the last to know about this too.” Sánchez is gone. Marlaska, Montero, Robles, Aagesen, Puente and Alegría weren’t even there. And the rest were erased, leaving the image of a government in flight that no one, except Vox and with great effort, could save again.
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