Beatlemania, half a century later

This is a great article, well worth the 5′ read; not only for the sake of nostalgia, but also as a valuable reference for many social (not just musical) events nowadays:
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beatlemania
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Who was to say, barely a week before such inmortal happening was shaking the world, another–infinitely less relevant event took place in a forlorn spot of an almost medieval Spain: among the smell of livestock and hey, donkey dungs and beehives, among the sound of horseshoes on the pebbles and the crow of cocks, a boy came to life who woud later grow up to become a lifelong devoted of that same musical band.
Indeed, as a teenager The Beatles meant for me the magical world of music, the mystery of love, the tour of emotions. And many, many more things. I can recall myself in the solitude of my home’s grave hall, playing over and over again the scant vinyls I could afford with my meagre savings. The head between the baffles for better grasping every word of their lyrics (in that British language so alien, so new to me), every note of their chords and every bit of their meanings, more than once I shed tears of thrill, sympathy and sentiment.
Later on, The Beatles were to become my generation’s symbol of identity. I learnt by heart their songs, their records and lives. I shivered and cried with the cries and the faints of their fans, as shown on TV. I admired them, and envied so much the mania they had arousen. I infinitely regretted they didn’t exist any more as a band, because I wouldn’t be able to once hear them in live; and, in this way, John Lennon’s assassination stroke me not so much as his death, but as a fatal point of no return.
Yet, I didn’t know what had gone on. Only two decades (decades!) later, my head well on my shoulders, I fully understood the whole span of their influence, the whole meaning of their music and the whole merit of their achievement: at their early twenties, being no older than my own nephews are today, The Beatles had arguably carried out the biggest spontaneous and real social revolution of all times; and beatlemania meant, no doubt, a moment in history never to be repeated… barely a week after the very day I was born.
Today, all that is but nostalgia and yearning; a bittersweet reminder of the merciless passage of time.

Posted in Fiction | 2 Comments

Repression in Ukraine: languacide of Russian

banderaUcrania

These are some facts:
A) According to annual surveys by the Ukrainian Institute of Sociology (of the National Academy of Sciences) throughout 1994 to 2005:
1.- Average 36% of the Ukrainian population are native Russian speakers.
2.- Average 34% of the population speak mainly Russian in family (at home), while 26% speak both Russian and Ukrainian. This amounts to 60% of the Ukrainians speak often Russian at home, more than half of which speak only Russian.
3.- Average 47% of the respondents deemed necessary to make Russian an official language, whereas 34% didn’t.
B) According to the official Ukrainian census of 2001, the Russian language is native for over 29.3% of the population. However,
C) According to a 2004 poll by the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology, the number of people using Russian at home considerably exceeds those who so declared in the census: Russian would be used in family by 43–46% of the country’s population (a similar proportion to Ukrainian speakers).
D) According to a 2012 poll by RATING (an Ukrainian NGO), 40% of the surveyed citizens of age stated that their native language is rather Russian, and 55% rather Ukrainian.
E) When Ukraine gained its independence, in August 1991, the newly formed Government decreed that Ukrainian would be the only state language. Since then, and to this day, the Russian-speaking population in Ukraine forms the largest linguistic group in modern Europe with its language being non-official in the state.
This is my opinion:
This is what I call a languacide; repression; sheer revenge on people who were not guilty of the prior russification of Ukraine. This is to be condemned, reproved, and even fought against. The fact that Ukraine had been long repressed by Russia is no excuse for retaliation on others. This levels the Ukrainians with the Russians, thus losing all moral strength.
Hence, in sight of the recent events in Ukraine and lacking non-biased information, I wonder who are the oppressors and who the oppressed.

Posted in Opinion | Tagged , | 5 Comments

Bethlehem of Galilee, Jesus’ birthplace?

While yahooing “Bethlehem” on the internet, a couple of results stating a curious theory caught my eye: namely, that Jesus’ birthplace might not have been the famous Bethlehem of Judea, but a much smaller–and closer to Nazareth–Bethlehem of Galilee (Beit Lehem Haglilit). Further research rendered abuntant results, though all of them lead to the same character: Aviram Oshri, a Jewish archeologist. According to Wikipedia

“it was originally known as Bethlehem of Zebulun […] Archaeological findings from the early Roman Period show it was a prosperous city. Due to its proximity to Nazareth, Aviram Oshri, a senior archaeologist with the Israeli Antiquities Authority, believes that this is the Bethlehem where Jesus was born.”

Whereas, with an excessive touristic zeal, IsraelTraveler.org says that

“it is perhaps one of the more picturesque places in the whole of Israel […] a place of a prominent European atmosphere, with its elegant stone houses, the impressive tile roofs and the wide main street into which everything flows. Here one can find today Zimmers, a unique Visitors Center, restaurants and cafés, small shops, art galleries and a large herbs farm rich in scents. It is recommended to visit the historic House of the People and the impressive round water tower at the top of which is a water pool.”

So I decided to visit the place. I was curious about this discovery and, sojourning in Nazareth by that time, I didn’t want to lose the opportunity of stepping on perhaps the real land that saw the birth of  Jesus.

However, though barely six miles away from Nazareth as the crow flies, to get there without my own vehicle was not such a simple task as it looked. To start with, none of the locals I asked seemed to know the place, and even a man who drove daily along the nearby road had never realized its existence. This shocked me a bit, having taken for granted that, at least around Nazareth, everyone should be aware of a neighbouring location competing for such a honour as being the birthplace of God’s son. But I was resolved to go; so I had to device my own route. GPS in hand, I first took a bus to Haifa and asked the driver to drop me at the junction with road 7626, where I could hitchhike or, if unlucky, walk the three remaining miles to the village. Under a merciless sun, it took me quite a while to get a ride. A young Jewish guy, honest enough to admit that it was easier to hitchhike in this region because Muslims were friendlier, picked me up and dropped me at highway 77, little more than one mile away from my destination. Yet, no sign of it was to be seen.

As a side note, let me say here that most of the population in the North District of Israel, whose capital is Nazareth, are Arabs (70% Muslims and 30% Christians, pacifically coexisting) who submitted to the Israeli occupation of their land in 1948, and consequently disapprove of the Jewish as much as they can. During my short stay in Nazareth I could sometimes hear words of animosity and even hatred, and I understood why my Jewish friend from Jerusalem used to tell me that it was not particularly safe for her to travel to some parts of the country.

So, there I was, standing by highway 77 and GPSing my way to a presumed landmark of universal importance that, notwithstanding, didn’t even have a road sign pointing to it. As a matter of fact, shortly after a quarter of a mile, and much to my astonishment, I had to leave the asphalt and take the dirt road supposedly leading to this mysterious Bethlehem. For the moment, all I could see of it was an isolated gardening shed. At both sides of the road lay meager farming lots and famine olive tree orchards. Finally I came to a fence whereof the gate stopped the way to vehicles. A town behind a wire fence?, I asked to myself.

Beyond the gate the road was paved again. I passed by a few scattered houses (not older than two or three decades), most of which had some or other kind of dog, not altogether friendly, guarding the property. I could hear one of them growling behind me along thirty endless steps. Yet not a soul appeared to my sight. Further on, the street forked and I kept walking along what I then clearly realized was an urbanization, on a layout much like what you can find all over North America: plot, house, garage, yard, grass, spread out toys, mailbox, little gate; then another plot, and another one… At length, I came across an old couple walking a dog, people  sitting at their front yard’s table, someone driving a huge 4WD or a group holding a jolly meeting under somebody’s tree. Voices could be heard speaking in Hebrew, others in USan English, and the children in a playground were fair haired like angels. Contrary to what happened in Nazareth, nobody nodded nor said hello to me, much after the riches’ stiff ways. Then I understood the fence and the gate: this was a hostile Jewish-American settlement in the middle of a hostile Arab territory; a fistful of wealthy families living in relatively expensive houses one mile away from average low class Muslim populations. Why here? God knows, as there are much nicer places in Israel where to build a country house rather than this dry, bare and ugly land. Maybe they’re subsidized by the Israeli government same as the settlements in Palestine?

However it be, after walking along the whole place -around 3/4 ml long- I didn’t find any sign whatsoever of ancient remnants or archaeological sites, nor an information board mentioning anything related to Jesus’ birth or a former settlement. Needless to say that I also didn’t find any of the picturesque things mentioned in IsraelTraveler.org: no European atmosphere, no elegant stone houses, no restaurants or cafés, no art galleries and no nothing flowing into the wide main street… So, what the hell was all that? A bad joke?

On my way back to Nazareth, helped by three Arab drivers, I was meditating. Perhaps there was some hidden corner within the urbanization where excavations had been done? Perhaps there were remains of a two thousand year old village, now wholly extinguished, two meters below the ground? Or perhaps this claim for the real birthplace of Jesus is only the whim of  a zealot Jew too willing to take from the Palestinians the relevance of their Bethlehem? Unless further information be published in the future, the incognita about this place’s authenticity will remain.

Posted in Essay, Opinion, Travels | 2 Comments

The disarmament of ETA

imperioFarsaSince Le Tribunal d’Estrasburg declared illegal the polemic Parot doctrine used by Spain for impeding the early redemption of terrorists and other dangerous criminals, and the Spanish National Court started to promptly and suspiciously release ETA murderers -along with anoother scum as a side effect-, it became clear to me that Spanish prime minister Rajoy’s Government was behind all that; and every time I heard or read in the media the same question over and over: why such a hurry?, I wondered if journalists and alike professionals could possibly ignore the obvious answer: because it’s a part of the Government’s course of action for the agreements on ETA’s disarmament.
It’s a well known fact in Europe that Strasbourg Tribunal’s resolutions are extremely often ignored, by the affected governments, without any consequences, because the member’s obligation to put them into practice is highly debatable; there are thousands of such resolutions yet to be carried out, among others, by Spanish authorities. But, even admitting that we’re bound to obey them, it remains unquestionable that nothing forced us to release those criminals so promptly and with such priority over other, much older cases; therefore, there is no denying that the Pouplar Party’s government has consented to the releasements.
But then, why the Spanish right wing has acquiesced to such unpopular move among not only their supporters but also most of the nation’s will? Nothing in politics happens by chance. Qui prod est? Obviously the Populars mean to electorally profit the move and -who knows?- perhaps some good will also come by the way to the people. But, for the moment, there’s only a social group to which the numerous releases benefit: ETA and their sociopolitical setting. Thus, we already have to essential elements to achieve the conclusion, because a Government’s move to the advantage of ETA and the abertzale must be paid with a reciprocal move to the advantage of the Government. Doesn’t it smell desarmament?
And, lo and behold!, quite coincidentally there’s now an announcement that ETA will partially deliver their weapons by the end of this year. Well… white and bottled: milk. Do we need more evidence? It seems unequivocal that our present Government gives in to some of the terrorist band’s demands in exchange of an electorally profitable -and socially desirable- desarmament. Whether the Popular Party has been behind these negotiation since its beginning, side by side with Zapatero (the previous Prime minister), or is just carrying it on motu propio, that I can’t tell; but it can’t be denied that everything belongs to the same story.
Not that I’m convinced that negotiating with terrorists should be absolutely rebuked: when facing such a severe social problem as terrorism, I understand that a Government may yield to the temptation of making deals with the criminals, instead of fighting them with more violence; but what makes me puke is to witness the Populars staging a farce with conmiseration and grief for the victims, hiding behind Strasburg and falsely stating their helplessness about the releasements, because all what Rajoy’s Executive is telling us since these started smells rotten. And it turns out rather ironical that, thanks to ETA’s disarmament, Rajoy’s going to pick the Y lo más irónico es que, con el desarme de ETA, Rajoy is going to pick, and show off, the only medal that might have belonged to Zapatero during his pathetic eight years’ rule.imperioFarsaDesde que el tribunal de Estrasburgo resolvió en contra de la polémica doctrina Parot (con bastante justicia, hasta donde se me alcanza) y la Audiencia Nacional empezó a excarcelar etarras con sospechosa y desusada celeridad, no me cupo la menor duda de que el gobierno de Rajoy estaba detrás de ello; y cada vez que escuchaba o leía en los medios la repetida pregunta: ¿por qué tanta prisa?, no dejaba de cuestionarme si era posible que los profesionales de la información no fueran capaces de apuntarnos la obvia respuesta: porque la excarcelación forma parte de la línea de acuerdos con ETA para llegar a su disolución.
Parece ser del dominio general que la obligación de acatar las resoluciones del Tribunal de Estrasburgo es más que dudosa, y ya sabemos que miles de ellas no han sido ejecutadas, teniendo España varias aún pendientes de ejecución. Pero incluso admitiendo que tuviésemos el compromiso de hacerlo, lo indudable es que nada nos obligaba a darles curso acelerado y cauce prioritario a las excarcelaciones resultantes de la “desautorización” de la doctrina Parot; de modo que, si así se ha hecho, ha tenido que ser con la total aquiescencia del gobierno del PP.
Pero, ¿por qué la derecha española se presta a una medida tan impopular, no sólo entre sus votantes, sino entre la mayoría de la población? ¿Qui prod est? Nada en política es casual. Sin duda planearán sacarle rentabilidad electoral y -¿quién sabe?- quizá también, de rebote, pueda resultar un beneficio para la nación. Mas, de momento, sólo hay un grupo social a quien la colectiva excarcelación de etarras beneficie: ETA y su entorno sociopolítico, que no es pequeño. De manera que tenemos ya dos elementos esenciales para llegar a la conclusión, puesto que una jugada del Gobierno que beneficia a ETA y al movimiento abertzale ha de estar compensada por una jugada recíproca que beneficie al Gobierno. ¿No huele el lector ya a desarme?
Pues precisamente ahora se anuncia un desarme parcial de ETA para, al parecer, finales de año. ¿Hace falta más evidencia? Parece claro que nuestro Gobierno actual cede ante algunas reivindicaciones de la banda terrorista (o de su brazo político) para acercarse, a cambio, a un desarme electoralmente rentable y, desde luego, socialmente deseable. Si el PP ha estado detrás de esta línea de negociación desde sus mismos inicios, codo con codo con Zapatero, o si sencillamente la está continuando de motu propio, es cuestión a la que mis conjeturas ya no llegan; pero lo que me resulta indudable es que todo forma parte de la misma historia.
Por lo demás, no es que yo sea un convencido detractor de las negociaciones con los terroristas: comprendo que frente a un problema social tan grave un Gobierno ceda a la tentación de pactar acuerdos en lugar de aniquilar al enemigo a riesgo de espirales de violencia; pero lo que me parece inaceptable es que el PP monte la farsa de las condolencias y la empatía hacia las víctimas, de los golpes de pecho y de las solemnes declaraciones de impotencia respecto a la resolución de Estrasburgo. Todo lo que el Ejecutivo lleva diciéndonos desde que comenzaron las excarcelaciones hiede a podrido. Y lo irónico es que, con el desarme de ETA, Rajoy va a colgarse la única medalla que, dado el caso, podría haberle correspondido a Zapatero en sus ocho años de nefasto gobierno.

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Two birds with one shot


‘This took place in the bar Venecia. Go and ask anyone; ask around what happened in that bar; they’ll tell you. Those were the times when everything was unsettled here, and we had a bomb warning every week somewhere. You ought to be very careful in those days; but, well, they killed you all the same, if they wanted to.
‘So, this feller was called Mateo, and he was all day intoxicated. He was a real boozer; and round the bed too, for that matter. Listen; listen here to what he did. That night he had entered the Venecia, and he must be half drunk for sure. Now, he goes to the bar and tells the man, a tall man: “gimme a long drink”; but the guy doesn’t move and replies: “sorry, man. I can serve you a juice or a coffee if you want, but not booze, ‘coz you don’t go half straight”. Well said, huh? Sensible. But, doh!, that’s not what Mateo expected to be said. He wanted to keep drinking; so he inists: “I say, gimme a fucking drink”. But the bar tender stands, sorry but no, you’ve drunk too much already.
‘Then some other customer must have teased Mateo, telling him something like: “look at this chakurra*!, get outta here”; so, the man stays calm, points to him, then to the waiter, and blurts out: “you and you, I’m going to kill you both son-of-a-bitches. Get me a taxi!” And when the cab arrives, he gets in and rides to the quarters, grabs the revolver and tells the driver to take him back to the Venecia.
‘This Mateo was real bad at shooting, and in the practices he never scored a bull’s eye. The lieutenant was always telling him off, and teasing him. Now, listen; on seeing the taxi back, the Venecia’s tender comes forward to face Mateo, who, from the very door, tells him once more: “so, are you going to serve me that booze, yes or no?” But the other was not a yellow; a plucky guy he was, and replies: “I said no; go home and sleep it off”. Then Mateo draws the gun and aims the customer who had called him chakurra. This one swiftly hurries away and shelters behind the barman, who gets shot in the throat; the bullet goes through him and hits the other right in the head. This done, Mateo goes back to the quarters, gets into his room, locks the door and swallows a full bottle of whisky.
‘Damn! He was looked for all over town the whole night but wasn’t found, until finally they forced open his room’s door and there he was, still drunk, chuckling. The lieutenant was back down, messing his hair: “God damned, Mateo! What a trouble you’ve put me in! How do you think I can justify this?” But the guy kept chuckling: “He, he, Sir: didn’t you say I was bad at shooting? I’ve shot them both with one bullet; now, can you beat that?”
‘Sure, man; ask around about the bar Venecia case. That was a well-known one.’

*chakurra means “dog” in Basque, and so they name the national policemen.

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Honouring Torrente Ballester

Publicado en Estrella Digital

Publicado en Estrella Digital


Un reciente y por completo innecesario artículo de Ángel Vivas, publicado en el diario El Mundo el pasado diez de octubre, ha tenido el malaje de hacerme saltar de indignación en el asiento. En él, el periodista Ángel Vivas, en palabras del crítico literario José Carlos Mainer, tienen el desacierto de afirmar una serie de dislates en descrédito del escritor Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, entre otros. Según Mainer, o según Vivas, o ambos (pues no se sabe bien qué aporta cada cual), este literato encarnaba la cultura del bando franquista, formaba parte de la corte literaria de José Antonio, tras su literatura había una ideología hedionda, fue falangista convencido y, en definitiva, sólo su adhesión al franquismo le dio reconocimiento literario. ¡Por Cristo vivo, qué sarta de sandeces! Flaco favor les hacen Vivas y Mainer a la historia y a la literatura levantando tales infundios en desprestigio de uno de nuestros más grandes literatos.
Da la casualidad de que este humilde bloguero se conoce de pe a pa la obra de Gonzalo Torrente y no pocos datos de su biografía; y resulta que, a poco que se sepa sobre este gallego, no se puede ignorar que su escasa inclinación ideológica nada tenía que ver con la Falange, y que era más bien galleguista, si acaso con cierta tendencia al anarquismo. Antes de la guerra había militado en el Partido Galleguista, de corte regional, nada del agrado del Régimen; y si después se afilió a la Falange fue, desde luego, por razones de supervivencia, no de convencimiento. De hecho, en su obra no hay apenas un asomo de política y, si algo en ella se trasluce del escritor, es el gran apego a su tierra y un espíritu bastante liberal, de mente abierta y pocas certidumbres.
Y, para rematar el artículo, concluyen Mainer y Vivas diciendo que la novela Javier Mariño es el arquetipo de una conversión al franquismo. ¡Sálveme Dios! ¡Qué insólito disparate, dicho precisamente de un libro que fue secuestrado por la censura franquista!
Tal rosario de insidiosas inexactitudes revela, de un lado, un sentido crítico ofuscado por vaya usted a saber qué frustraciones, rencores o envidias; y, de otro, una perfecta incomprensión de la obra de Don Gonzalo. Me da la sensación de que los señores Mainer y Vivas no han entendido ni una sola palabra de lo que escribió Torrente Ballester; un hombre que, casi siempre tras una pudorosa envoltura humorística y metafórica, escribió sobre todo del amor y de la belleza: esto es todo lo que hay en sus novelas. Su único pecado, que la progresía no le perdona, es el de haberse mantenido al margen de ideologías y haber sobrevivido al franquismo sin exiliarse. De  hecho, no sólo es falso que su adhesión al franquismo le diera el reconocimiento literario, sino que fue su supervivencia al franquismo lo que le bloqueó el renombre que se habría merecido.
¡Ay, qué enorme daño a la Verdad puede hacer un mal uso del privilegio de ser publicado en la prensa!Spanish critic José Carlos Mainer and journalist Ángel Vivas have recently published a–totally unnecessary–article in paper El Mundo with apparently the sole purpose of dishonouring the name and works of some Spanish writers who lived during Franco times. An article that has made me jump on my seat. Particularly, they assert a good deal of nonsense to Gonzalo Torrente Ballester’s discredit, such as “the author personified the culture of Franco’s faction”, or “embodied the literary court of José Antonio” (a politician who inspired Franco), and also “behind his novels breathes a hideous ideology”, “he was a true member of Falange” (they only legal party during Franco’s dictatorship), for finally saying that his literary acknowledgment was due solely to his support for the Regime. By my faith, what a row of prattle! With such malicious lies for disparaging one of our greatest writers, Messieurs Mainer and Vivas turn out to be quite detrimental for History and literature.
It turns our that this humble blogger knows thoroughly Torrente’s works and biography; but, even for those who only know a little bit of him, it’s obvious that Ballester’s scarce ideological leanings had nothing to do with Falange, rather being quite fond of his region’s (Galicia) particular idiosyncrasy, and maybe with inclination to anarchism. Actually, before civil war, Don Gonzalo was a member of the Pro-Galician Party of regionalist undertones: nothing to the Regime’s liking. Yes, he afterwards joined Falange, just for survival reasons. Besides, there is close to nil politics in his novels, and the only ideological information a reader can possibly get from those books is a big love for Galicia–his homeland–and a liberal mentality, strongly open minded and of weak beliefs.
Worst of all, for topping the bill, Mainer and Vivas conclude their article with a downright allegation: Torrente Ballester’s novel Javier Mariño is paradigm of a conversion to Francoism. Good Lord! What a bizarre foolish remark meant for a book that was seized by Franco’s censorship!
Such a series of deceptive inaccuracies evidences, on one side, a critical sense blinded by God knows which frustrations, resentments or envies; and on the other side a thorough incomprehension of Torrente Ballester’s work. I have the feeling that Mr. Mainer, and perhaps Mr. Vivas as well, have not understood a single one of Torrente’s words; a man who mostly wrote, wrapped in a modest humorous veil, about beauty and love; that’s all about his novels. His only sin, never forgiven by the leftish to a writer, was to keep away from ideologies and having managed to survive Franco’s regime without going into exile. Actually, not only he didn’t owe his writer’s recognition to Francoism, but quite on the contrary: survival of the dictatorship severly hindered the much better acknowledgement he deserved.
What a big damage to Truth can entail the abuse of the privilege of being published!

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The big lie

It would be a pity if one of the most telling and meaningful pieces of information published in the last few days passed unnoticed among the noise of other news, certainly more sexually attractive but surely less important from the point of view of “civilization”.
I’m talking about the increase in the number of millionaires (people owning more than one million dollars) in Spain during the past twelve months: by mid 2013 there were 47000 more millionaires than by mid 2012, meaning a 13’2% increase. The prompt explanation given by economists, at mouse eye, being that financial markets’ evolution has been good for the past months, and that’s where well-off people invest their money. But it turns out that during 2012, without such good evolution in financial markets, the number of millionaires also increased, though “only” in a 5’4%. More yet: the year before that, right in the worst of the economical recession, millionaires in Spain decreased in just a 2%.
Thus, if we observe and analyze these data at eagle view, not being distracted by inmediate causes, we find that, even in full crisis, total wealth in Spain seems to not have disappeared or stalled, but just changed hands: from those lower or middle classes to the upper ones. In other words: the economical inequalities have increased in number and scope–which evidences that our political and economical system, our graceful Constitution with all its adornment of pompous and moving values: freedom, democracy, equality, progress, etc, is but a big social lie; and our kitsch legal system is just wet paper.
So, after these conclusions, as dramatic as inescapable, I find it trivial to worry about a few feminists more or a few unions’ frauds less.

Publicado en Estrella Digital

Publicado en Estrella Digital


Sería lástima que uno de los datos más reveladores y significativos publicados en estos últimos días pasara desapercibido entre el ruido de otras noticias que, ciertamente más morbosas, son menos importantes desde el punto de vista de la civilización. Me refiero al incremento que ha habido en el número de millonarios (gente con patrimonio superior a 750.000 €) en España durante el último año: a mediados de 2013 teníamos 47000 millonarios más que a mediados de 2012, o sea un 13’2%. La explicación inmediata que dan los economistas, a vista de ratón, es que los mercados financieros llevan un tiempo evolucionando bastante bien, y es en dichos mercados donde invierte la gente con dinero. Pero resulta que en 2012, sin esa buena evolución de los mercados financieros, también aumentó el número de millonarios, aunque “sólo” en un 5’4%. Más aún: el año anterior, en lo peor de la recesión económica, la cantidad de millonarios en España apenas descendió un 2%. Entonces, si observamos y consideramos estos datos a vista de águila, sin dejarnos distraer por causas inmediatas, tenemos que, incluso en plena crisis, la riqueza total no parece haberse destruido ni haberse quedado estancada, sino que más bien parece haber cambiado de manos: desde las clases medias o menos favorecidas, hacia las que lo están más. En otras palabras. que las desigualdades económicas han aumentado tanto en número como en distancia; lo cual pone de manifiesto que nuestro sistema político y económico, nuestra gallarda democracia con todo su ornamento de grandilocuentes valores: libertad, democracia, igualdad, progreso, etc, no es más que una gran mentira social; y nuestro churrigueresco ordenamiento jurídico es sólo papel mojado. De modo que, frente a estas conclusiones, tan dramáticas como insoslayables, me parece nimio andar preocupándonos por unas feministas de más o unos fraudes sindicales de menos.

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Unions and academies, hand on hand with fraud

For as long as one or two decades, Spanish unions have been commiting a continuing fraud with public funds and training courses; an undeniable practice, one of those vox populi realities which, because of their continuous impunity, has ended being considered as normal: “that’s how it works”, people finally think.
Obviously, the protagonism and guilt of the unions is beyond any reasonable doubt, despite their leaders emphatically deny it–which is their right, of course, as any impreached has the right to lie for his own sake according to Spanish laws.
However, to honour justice, we must also accuse other culprits who have as well profited the abuse. But, previously, I guess I must explain to those who ignore it how these deceptions work:
There are public funds for the training and updating of the unemployed, part of which (the funds) are handled to the unions for these to organize and convene the training courses. Naturally, unions are obliged to render an account of the destination of the money; but they’re not the ones to give the courses; these are implemented by private schools, or freelance teachers, hired to that purpose by the unions. So far, so good. Now, what’s what really happens? For an academy to opt for one of those contracts and be awarded the job, they have to submit themselves to one unavoidable condition: when issuing the invoice for their services, they have to state an amount several times higher than the real price of the course: twice, thrice, maybe five times, depending on the case. Thus, the unions pocket such extra charges and justify payments much larger than those carried out. Now, to tally the accounting, the school or the freelancer must needs a way of showing expenses in the amount of the seized money by the unions; otherwise the school should pay so much taxes (for a money they didn’t get) that there would be no gain. No problem! Everything is thought of: the unions provide the academies with a so-called “counter-bill”, i.e., a fake invoice about some imaginary expenses of the academy in order to implement the training course. These fictitious expenses diminish the fictitious income, and everything is balanced.
Of course, unions are the main ones to benefit, pocketing tremendous amounts of public money. But also the dishonest private schools or freelancers profit, as their aquiescence with the fraud enables them to be granted a contract which, had they been honest, would have been out of their reach. Therefore, as we can see, for the deception to work it’s necessary to count on the cooperation of those businesses; withouth this cooperation, the swindle would not be. Now, at least in Spain, any laws student knows that the necessary cooperator in an offence is as guilty as the author himself. Let’s not forget that a business is only as clean as the less filthy of the parts involved.
More yet: if we were to ascertain civic responsibilities, we’d also be somehow guilty who, knowing about the fraud, never reported it, as is our legal duty. Unfortunately this is one of the big problems in our society: we don’t accept our share in the responsibilities.

Publicado en Diario YA

Publicado en Diario YA


El fraude llevado a cabo con los cursos formativos organizados por los sindicatos ha sido una práctica duradera e innegable; una de esas realidades vox populi que, a fuerza de impunidad, llegan a considerarse normales; “así es como funciona”, acaba pensando la gente.
Desde luego, no cabe la menor duda del protagonismo y la culpabilidad de los sindicatos, pese a que sus líderes, lógicamente, niegan la mayor… y están en su derecho, como en su derecho a mentir está todo imputado en un delito.
Sin embargo, para hacer honor a la justicia, hay que acusar también a otros no menos responsables que se han beneficiado de la corruptela. Pero, antes, voy a explicar brevemente, para quien lo desconozca, cómo funcionan estos fraudes.
Existen unos fondos públicos para la formación de desempleados, y parte de estos fondos se entregan a los sindicatos para que sean éstos quienes se encarguen de organizar y convocar los cursos. Como es natural, tienen que justificar ante las administraciones donantes el uso que le han dado a ese dinero. Pero ellos no imparten los cursos, sino que, a su vez, subcontratan a academias o profesores autónomos para ese fin. Hasta aquí, todo es razonable. Pero ¿qué sucede en realidad? Pues que, para que una academia o autónomo pueda aspirar a que le adjudiquen el contrato de un curso formativo, los sindicatos le ponen una condición inexcusable: en la factura que la academia expida por sus servicios ha de consignar una cantidad varias veces superior al precio que va a cobrar: el doble, el triple o el quíntuple, según; y este exceso sobre el precio se lo queda el sindicato, que de este modo justifica pagos muchísimo mayores de los que en realidad efectúa. Ahora bien, para cuadrar las cuentas, es necesario que la academia o autónomo pueda a su vez justificar gastos por el importe que los sindicatos se han embolsado, ya que de otro modo sus impuestos se dispararían y no le quedaría ganancia alguna. Pues bien: eso ya está todo pensado y el propio sindicato se encarga de proporcionarles lo que, en el argot, se denomina la contrafactura; o sea, una factura falsa por unos gastos ficticios en los que se supone que la academia o autónomo han incurrido al impartir el curso, gastos imaginarios que minoran los ingresos imaginarios, para que todo cuadre.
Desde luego, el gran beneficiado aquí es el sindicato, que se embolsa cantidades astronómicas de dinero público. Pero también se aprovecha la empresa que realiza el curso, pues su aquiescencia con el fraude le permite acceder a un contrato del que una actitud honrada le privaría. De modo que, como vemos, para que la estafa funcione, hay que contar con la necesaria cooperación de las academias o autónomos; sin esta cooperación, el engaño no sería viable. Y cualquier estudiante de derecho sabe que tan culpable de un delito son sus autores directos como los cooperadores necesarios. Y no olvidemos que un negocio sólo puede ser tan limpio como el menos sucio de sus partícipes.
Aún hay más: si depuramos responsabilidades cívicas, también resultamos en cierto modo culpables todos los que, sabiéndolo, no lo hemos denunciado, como habría sido nuestra obligación ciudadana frente a los delitos de que tenemos noticia. Lamentablemente, uno de los peores problemas de nuestra idiosincrasia es que no somos capaces de asumir nuestra parte de responsabilidad.
¡Necesito un país nuevo!

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