One knows how to enter an electoral debate and it is unknown how to leave: whether standing up, as dignity prescribes, or on all fours. In general, what is wanted to be transmitted to the voters is prepared a lot, but the verbal darts that are going to be received from the adversaries are ignored. The first television duel of 19J was surprising not so much for its lack of spontaneity – an impossible mission when the format is mortgaged in advance by the political parties – but for the (relative) absence of excessive crudeness, except for specific episodes of overacting. All the applicants were restrained in relation to their angry (parliamentary) customs.
Each one interpreted their respective script, with more or less insecurities and successes, and sold their message, although the general music of the choir –six tenors, half of them women, sometimes singing a dirge or others a hymn to a prosperity that does not exist– sounded dissonant in relation to the true social reality of Andalusia. First conclusion: not one of the six candidates projected his message in the direction of the future (of all), but with respect to the past (their own). Yours. Moreno Bonilla –with the help of Marín, not at all constrained by his institutional role and encouraged by the scant future predicted by the polls– played extreme centrality, sold an optimism that fades in the sunlight (of the data) and he avoided a frontal confrontation both with Olona –his hypothetical partner, his undoubted rival– and with Espadas.
The socialist candidate desperately needed the president’s attention. He didn’t get too much of it. Just a few seconds. He insistently sought melee all the time and became falsely dignified when they cited the (dirty) legacy of the PSOE governments. The head of the list of the ultramontani, who chose white instead of green or the colors of the Spanish flag with which he usually dresses to go to rallies, oscillated between melodrama, cardboard victimhood and martial rhetoric -especially when the topic of feminism was brought up. For a cunera –a deputy for Granada residing in Madrid, in the style of the 19th century Restoration–, she had moments in technicolor (saturated pinks and blues on moving clouds) equivalent to those of Escarlata O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. wear.
Moreno Bonilla, who spoke relatively little –he didn’t need to, it was enough for him to smile or shake the legacy of the PSOE to get out of the trance unscathed–, sold cotton candy, just like in the humble town fairs, and limited himself to letting go the watch. The Yolandistas of Por Anda-lucia and the CUP (Andalusian) of Teresa Rodríguez, who did not lose much and had almost everything to gain, proudly raised their flags (feminist agenda and full anti-capitalism) without ever shedding their condition (demographic) of troupes. They all seemed, in short, characters from Pirandello, creatures with a speech alien to the daily drama of their constituents.
