Two and a half million non-Spaniards on the way to becoming Spaniards had to follow Wednesday with great concern the government control session in Congress. It is still not the seat of their national sovereignty nor will it be before the general elections, unless the providential intervention of ‘José Félix Conde-Pumpido‘, I mean ‘Cándido Félix Tezanos‘, soon takes place, who will have already received the order to suspend the Supreme Court’s suspension.
We imagine that crowd of potential Spaniards who have applied for nationality, a demographic miracle of the Spanish census, attentive to the screens of their mobiles from Mexico, Buenos Aires or Havana (well, not from Havana, since there are no mobiles or electricity to charge them there). With a foreign heart in a fist, watching parliamentary clues about the final fate of the grandchildren’s law. Because they are the grandchildren, indeed. With whose votes Pedro counted to balance the factional bias that the peninsular demos is decisively taking.
Experts assure us that this hypothesis is born of paranoia, that there is no empirical evidence for such malicious projections, that the suddenly naturalized Spaniards by that law will not massively exercise their newly acquired right to vote because they have other things to think about; all that sounded reassuring until we heard Óscar López compare the magistrates of the Third Chamber with jihadists who stab Christians in Christmas markets. Calling judges “lone wolves” marks such a milestone of oral degradation that when they put the microphone to Óscar Puente to surpass him, the head of the Ministry of Coprolalia could only stammer his timid adherence to his colleague’s metaphor. López this time had climbed the podium in the mud contest, leaving the silver to the champion.
The institutional clash between the Supreme Court and the Constitutional Court has been prefigured this week by a cathodic appetizer. First spoke Mrs. Sofía Puente, Khaleesi of sanchismo, mother of voters, who laid like cuckoos the fertile egg of her treacherous instruction in the foreign nest of a rule already approved by Parliament. But then spoke Mr. Josep Borrell on TVE, and calmly separated the legal waters of nationality and the right to vote to the great scandal of our borderless naturalizers. Nothing that other more consolidated democracies than ours have not been doing for some time.
The issue should mainly concern the nostalgic left of the black ball carambolas. Because Mrs. Sofía’s black pudding mixed the ass of economic emigration with the tempers of ideological exile. Because the postwar was stingy for everyone, also for the families of the winning side, many of whose members left the motherland to seek a living in America. If Mr. Óscar’s sister exempts the grandchildren from the requirement to prove the political causes that forced their ancestors to leave Spain, then the very notion of democratic memory that inspired this law loses all its retributive meaning. It makes no difference whether the descendant is from the fascist or the red. And for that trip, there was no need to exile.
