The scene is repeated traced after each close of the elections. Dozens of people spread out like an army of zombies in suits in the public space reduced to the screens and began to talk frantically around a mysterious object: the votes inside more than 105,000 ballot boxes, ringing but not yet counting.
The political reality of Argentina has just been updated in exchange for waiting with the expectation of a bride who has not yet reached the altar. Men in suits and women in little suits orbit around these buried treasures and the same phenomenon occurs again: words spinning madly around numbers that are coming. There is nothing except helplessness verbalized through forecasts and a trickle of meaningless incidental data (the legendary “cut”).
But you still have to look at the screens, which attest to the very human activity of talking just for the sake of talking, and stop to see how someone sees a cloudy horizon that reveals nothing. América, Pública TV, the hypertext C5N, the withered TN, the Perfil channel and, finally, LN+, the maximum stage of poorly hidden passions, pass by.
In a line like a customer service desk are Eduardo Feinmann, Guadalupe Vázquez, Luis Novaresio and a very excited Pablo Rossi. It is 7:30 in the afternoon and there are no official data. AND? Which is it? WhatsApp messages explode. They are the “sources” of these aces that begin to emit their sparkles at night: a “they tell me”, an “attention”, a “at a table in Villa María…”, a “at a table in Nordelta…”. You can not be more informed than these specters capable of counting the needles of a haystack.
Until another qualified data arrives from a school in San Martín de los Andes in which Juan Grabois got many votes. One of the brains of those who are delivering their gifts to us says: “Hippie votes, ha ha ha…”. The alarm bells for the silly use of language have just gone off. An abyss of terror opens in which, as a Cablevisión subscriber, I say: “No! Don’t do it! Don’t say it!” I mentally kneel so the inevitable doesn’t happen. But it happens. Guadalupe Vázquez is encouraged to give us her literature and recharges the trite joke with a twist that I will never forget (I put on my dishwashing gloves so as not to come into direct contact with the phrase that I am going to transcribe): “Hippies with OSDE”. Then, the second blow, no longer linked to her lyrics but to the fields of freedom in which her interpretations flourish: “Milei does not qualify as ultra-right.”
In the antipodes, the overheated tunnels of C5N where the long faces and sighs into the microphone also intensify, Fernando Borroni tries to say that the vote for Milei has something “undemocratic”. It’s a strange twist of logic, like saying “white black”, but on TV everyone makes logic with the most romantic of his passion. Gato Silvestre tries to stop him. He tells her that voting is a manifestation of society. But Borroni makes a new account and answers: “Society also supported Galtieri in the square.” What a soapy stick it is to argue with someone who confuses degrees with natures.
Milei’s monstrosity, her unanswered prayers, her growing stalking, her pop madness becoming social meat half in disdain and half in anger, is the whalebone that sticks equally into the signs that for years have been cutting in two the public sphere. Milei is delusional reality materializing, perplexing traditional politics and what orbits around it.
For whatever reasons, everything was set for the consummation of this moment that, strangely, disguises itself as a surprise. The Incendiary Beast, the exterminator of community benefits, the most spectacular agent of irrationality that has visited Argentine political history, the one that the platforms for the consecration of the image described as “disruptive” and celebrated by the imitations of Leonardo Favio has come out from its threatening incubation and now it’s What’s Coming. Did no one see it coming?
Interpretations of the phenomenon cut across all moods, especially the mutually supportive states of euphoria and depression. A delirium ship just stuck in the desert where nothing was happening. Whether Milei’s crash announced by all the oracles is an atomic reaction to Alberto’s suspensive government is something that reactionologists should deal with. The ugly but new fact has just been presented, and he offers to be read.
In C5N the contradictory feelings intensify. At last a human measure in the machine to spit slugs. A very pleasant air of ignorance runs through the panels. In LN+ it is moving to see how depressed Alfredo Leuco’s aggressive vein is noticeable. There is a disastrous peeling effect on his war vest, and a crestfallen repose, with his Cordoba gaze fixed on a notebook. The same thing happens to Viviana Canosa and little Jony Viale, withered, absorbed by the Mileian missile that they stoked without being able to deactivate it in time. In the center of the cemetery, a nerve-wracked Luis Majul watches over the ruins of a future of changes that are yet to be seen.
And yet, it should not be dramatized. The only thing that happened was unforgettable primary elections, open, simultaneous and not so mandatory. As of tomorrow (politics is an animal that quickly restores its mutilations), the corpses will be counted and a list of the stunned generals who will go to war again in two months.
JJB
2023-08-14 03:50:39
#Long #faces #crazy #words #choice #television #screen
