The nonsense of the spokesman

the country of shit

I have stolen the title from the American Henry Miller, an author without qualms, close to paroxysm, loquacious, disordered in his arguments, anarchic, confused, racist, rude, a true erotomaniac, but, for me, very interesting. He describes the New York of the 1930s and seems to hate it, because he refers to it as hostile, poor, dirty, flooded with beggars and rats, plagued by unemployed people, when the nicest thing that existed, at least for him, was easy sex, given away , with secretaries or with desperate young women who offered themselves in exchange for work. Also with experienced prostitutes who were not afraid of anything. It is enough to read what was happening in that chaotic Brooklyn invaded by people of all kinds (at least in Miller’s mind) to convince us that Bolivia has become something similar to “the country of fucking.”

With the exception of easy sex, which is not so easy in Bolivia, here even an illiterate man can get to govern, and the illiterate, by attending a few marches and giving some impetuous, clumsy, and flattering harangues to the chief, can, at night in the morning, go from shining shoes to occupying a deputation. These no longer learn what they did not learn in school, so they insist on the immediate to fulfill their functions, which is the lie as a fundamental principle, the trap, theft and submission. The parliamentarians, men and women, who know something or a lot, are overwhelmed by the shouting of the ignorant mob that approves foolish laws by dint of cave majorities. That, a panorama of democracy in this nation, a system that sinks deeper every day.

In “the country of fucking” justice is useless or, to put it better, it is used for those who have money or power. Justice operators see money and fix everything. There is no more unjust nation than this one, where an extortive and harassing “fiscalato” has been installed against those who do not agree with the government of the day. “Justice for friends, jail for enemies” is the norm. The evil is in the iniquitous judicial elections, unique in the world because they are crazy.

That causes the prostituted Bolivian legal system to scare foreigners. He drives them away by confiscating their properties, blackmailing them with threats and even sending them to prison to squeeze them out. With the nationals that is daily bread, because there are hundreds or thousands of the party’s subjugators, who, under the vice-presidential motto that “the land belongs to everyone”, take over the roads armed with sticks, occupy properties in full production or take national parks. But they are so mischievous that they want to convince that “legal certainty” exists.

What nation can live eternally blocked? In “the country of fucking” there are blockades every day. No one can be sure of reaching their destination, because, for whatever reason, someone puts branches, tires, flags, on a street or highway and some angry ladies appear, who sit on the sidewalk to ask for something. It is not about anything extraordinary: it is enough that there are no tiles for a school, that a deputy has gotten drunk, that a mayor spends money from the petty cash box with his chola, that the garbage truck does not pass for a few days, for it to be interrupted the Santa Cruz-Cochabamba highway or the Interoceanic highway or any other. The fact is that this country confined by geography is confined even more by the madness of a few. What is the fault of the citizens that a deputy gets drunk or a mayor has a spending chola?

Drug trafficking is rampant, but nobody says who owns the business. Some policemen go to jail, they are sometimes sentenced, but none of them knows what the marmaja’s fate was. The governments protect the drug traffickers, but they snort with anger when it is affirmed that Bolivia is a “narco-state”. They fired the DEA for nothing more than to have a free hand with the drug business. But the DEA does not need to set up offices in Bolivia while it looks at everything and writes it down. Coca is advancing like a green tide and the government says it is diminishing. But the cynicism reaches its climax when it is stated that cocaine is not manufactured in the Chapare, that the thousands of hectares of leaves are for “chewing”, for soft drinks, medicines and jellies. Who is the boss there? Well, “nobody”. “Nobody” knows who the “capo di tutti capi” is. It is only suspected with fear.

In “the country of fucking” fraud could not be absent. It is a nation of vicious fraudsters, experts at turning the tables. Fraud is rampant everywhere, but it shines in politics, in elections. Fraud must be one of the most abominable crimes, because it circumvents the will of the people, it deceives those who place their faith in the State. Here, in “the country of fucking” the fraudulent walks free and demands rights, while the swindled are not heard and a woman, the most offended and deceived on the entire planet, today is locked in a dungeon.

“The fucking country” spends everything its land produces, squanders taxes, but squeezes the necks of the producers. It imposes quotas on exports and a price band for entrepreneurs, but turns a blind eye to smuggling and the illegal exploitation of minerals such as gold. He does not know how to protect himself if it is not in the interest of the “brothers”. It has allowed itself to be taken away a lot and it will allow itself to be taken away more because it has a pitiful diplomacy.

However, nobody understands that with so much debauchery the nation seems so carefree and joyful. Bolivia always waits for a miracle to survive. Let’s see if on these holy dates we all pray.

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