If I had any power in health policy, no matter how small, I would send Miguel Bosé a ham and have a little detail with Tamara Falcó and Victoria Abril, without forgetting Jordi Évole, to whom I would send, at least, a card of thank you signed in my handwriting. Thank you, I would tell you, for taking so much weight off my battered loins. Thank you, because when you speak, the debate focuses on you and not on those who negotiate with the pharmaceutical companies and the inter-territorial councils that decide how many brothers-in-law can be together at a barbecue.
In the greatest health crisis that the world has suffered in more than a century, public discussion focuses on the vitriolic statements of the show business in prime time. Last year, the politicians responsible looked like Rafa Nadal in the Roland Garros final. With what power they returned the ball to the citizens, using as a racket a concept of political philosophy whose usefulness was unknown until then: “individual responsibility.” While the neighbors pointed to each other from the balconies, calling the man who lowered the garbage without a mask a murderer, few demanded accounts for the scarcity of sanitary resources and the clumsiness of the management. Today, with the inquisition of the balconies calmed, it is the Iberian celebrations radicalized on the internet – as if they were agents of the Islamic State, but in magufo – who effectively divert attention.
European governments have gone beyond the ridiculous on the subject of vaccines, bullied by the odd pharmaceutical company and unable to prevail over the mass hysteria of thrombi. However, Tamara Falcó’s “chao pescao” arouses much more indignation in The anthill, when saying that he refuses to wear the AstraZeneca, that the stupidity of the ministers of health. How easy it is to be a politician with such clueless vassals.
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