For some time now, when I attend meetings with guests of different ideological sensibilities, I make it a point not to talk about politics to avoid unpleasant situations. The problem is that there is always someone who wants to talk about politics. And, for some reason that escapes me, it is usually someone who is interested in the Falcon, Begoña’s chairs, the Zapatero mines in Venezuela, the historical links between Sanchism and Stalinism and things like that.
At the last of these meetings, one of the people present said to me in a voice as if he were pressing his index finger against my side: “You, who are a journalist, what do you think about the end of freedoms in this country? huh?” The man looked anything but Mandela locked up on Robben Island: he had been talking non-stop about the restaurants he had discovered and the trips he had taken, and he was wearing designer clothes, a flashy Rolex and a bracelet that, since I am colour-blind, I could not say for sure whether it represented a flag. In a respectful tone, I asked him to name three freedoms that he could not exercise because of Sánchez and, apologetic for his confusion, I told him that one would be enough for me, to which he mumbled something I did not understand. very apropos woke upleft-handed and Maduro. At that point, I politely left under the pretext that I was going to get myself a soda.
