Perhaps the simile is of poor comparative value, but those dog plastas that are usually scattered like anti-personnel mines on our street walks something in common have with the microphones that one believes in “off” when in truth they are “on”. Those and these often cause unthinking bites of our paws. Fetid the first, often treacherous the latter.
Usually, the two lack any other significance other than the ungrateful cleanliness of the sole of our shoes or strive to downplay the carelessness of technical lesa. There are, however, clear differences between the two contradictions. Stepping on poop is not the same as saying it. Sinking the shoe into a canine zurullo is an misfortune that only affects the owner of the shoe. The distraction of an open microphone, on the other hand, may put in unwanted ears some personal value judgment that the issuer of the same would have preferred to keep constrained to the reserved intimacy with his confessor or his happy hour quarters.
The mischievous accident is of spicy sabotage when such a trial is referred to a flesh-and-blood neighbor. And he wins in itching and conjunction when the screw-up is a “public man” (despite some old republican superstition, such a locution is not necessarily anonyme of that that the RAE docta discerns as “public woman”).
This is what sometimes happens in the egregious realm of Parliament, when the treacherous ear of technology plays its ins and outs. Like that senator who, with the rudeness of veteran fullback, accuses a colleague and brotherhood (a certain Eguiguren) of “talking pure that.” Or that congressman with the surname of gemal retintintin that at some meeting of some parliamentary committee confesses that a journalist presents (National Journalism Award) is “the old one that we like”. And there’s not much, one of our popular reps tripped again and went upside down in front of an open microphone. This trick of chance allowed the outside world to learn that Carabineros’ newly nominated general director “is more left-handed than the shusha”, that “his family is left, left, left” and that “this weon is very left-wing”. (On the sidelines: the chairman of his band himself is also left-handed.)
Unsurprisingly, when he realized his transplanted microphone, the honorable legislator was quick to pull his paw out and – noblesse oblige – to present with Marist hidalguía to the general alluded to his excuses and higher considerations, along with assured him, chest hand and hat in hand, all his support “whatever his family”. (There appears to be no record of the general ‘left’s’ response to the MP’s sincere apology.)
These verbal stumbles of our honorable ones are appreciated, because, although perhaps somewhat uncomfortable for their protagonists, they manage to illuminate with a very brief fucilazo the usual grisalla that prevails in the catering kitchens of some of the official powers of the State. In any case, such slips are more gratstone than the beggars for “the scraping of the pot” or “the bite” by legislative services of the third type.
On the other hand, these dialectal desmadres off the record once again reveal the chronic deficit of cultural substance that extends metastatic through the ins and outs of the dominant subculture in all operational strata of public res. That is, a meticulous handling of language. Although this grieving complaint about the language and language of politicians has existed since the beginning of public opinion, the issue has never lost its topicality.
What was once one of the main tools of political work has become a far-use thing. With the digitization of communication processes this hardship of saying has acquired grotesque traits. Not a few politicians across the spectrum when, boldly, they decide to dispense with the speech pre-written by their ghostwriters to say what they think about this and that, enough is the two hundred and forty characters of their Twitter account. By the way: Wittgenstein said something like “the limits of my language mean the limits of my world.” Well, north of the Rio Grande, the outgoing president just showed that that was enough for him to rule four years and lose re-election with seventy million votes. Thus, one almost ends up thanking the most lay people among the political staff in the service of the nation, who there are also, to simply express their sesudate opinions with the wisdom brevity of the red-green thumbs of like or dislike.
Very much despite those who, from the galleries of the chicken coop, look at our political scenea, this one is extremely greedy in showing what Voltaire called “the ingenious reason.” The argumental rhetoric of our syndicates and syndicates is often as poor as their sense of humor. Many prefer spitting to smart lunge, our ditching rather than caustic spark. Our patrician does not finish understanding that his magnason functions not only provide him with immunity, as well as several well-paid powers set by law. Desirable and refreshing would be if you also remembered a couple of obligations of minimum oontological range imposed on you by the charge: perhaps a self-critical look in the mirror or a minute’s silence at the absence of ideas of your own.
It has long since been the postmodern market, in whose stalls the important thing is no longer to be, not even to appear, but simply to appear, has been trotting the activity of paid politicians in what Guy Debord defined as “spectacle merchandise”. One more than so many that has ended up with the voter-turned-consumer of a product of dubious profit that tends to lead to more debt than profits. (Among many other things, the so-called “October 18 burst” and the overwhelming opinion expressed in the plebiscite spawned in it are results of such involution.)
Thus seen, the indignants of the Third State do not sin from an excess of originality when they apostrophate the Congress of the nation as a circus. There are, however, disjoyses between them. (Unless, of course, there is talk of a Roman circus.) It is true that among our congressmen we find outstanding balancers, jugglers, illusionists, transformers, knife throwers, contortionists, some pocket lion or a few applauding seals of the Fisheries Law.