SOCIAL ASSISTANCE IN MALDONADO URUGUAY. A REAL STORY.

 
 SOCIAL ASSISTANCE IN MALDONADO, URUGUAY. A REAL STORY.

  Today in the morning I accompanied an elderly neighbor who was grumbling because of the pain in his legs and without efficient circulation. The card for taking the bus for free had expired and had to be renewed.

  I paid the ticket for both to the center of Maldonado. We went, with resting every five steps of the old man, to renew the traffic card.

   The lady who attended this procedure - all sweetness and sympathy, searched the PC while we waited. She told us that a year had passed and that we should go to Social Assistance under Maldonado's main football stadium to renew it.

  I lend, almost dragging the old man with one hand, we arrived at the site. I couldn't climb the stairs so we took an elevator to the second floor where SOCIAL ASSISTANCE was located.

   There, sitting in chairs behind a table, two young girl asked us what the elder needed.

  One was a young blonde, with pink complexion, face with the carmine, red lips and hair held by a ribbon, very smiling and friendly. The other was another obese but dark-haired young woman with a pretty face, full of makeup with the lips of a black dye and frizzy hair that had braided it into long raftafari-like strands also collected with a bow on the neck. But she was obese, with opulent breasts almost reached her belly button, wide hips and non-existent waist. Black shoes with giant platforms — I don't know how she could walk — fit her lush feet as an attractive young woman.

  We ticket with the number 9. So we would have to wait a long time. Patience, I told the old man, tired of so many bureaucratic procedures.

  There was a sign in a cubicle where it proclaimed "Social Assistance" and I addressed to it. There was another young woman of indigenous descent mixed with brunette who didn't attend to anyone. I saw her sitting there while the other girls brought her disposable cups and coffee cups, over and over again with something I appresiared was cafee. Will she be the director? - I told myself and asked her:

  -Sorry for interrupting your coffee at 11:30 in the morning, but is this where you attend Social Assistance?

 - YES - she said without smiling, and continued sipping her lovely coffee.

   And so the minutes passed without the "Director" or any position she had, attending any audience.

   Finally it was the turn of the old man who  I accompanied. Stuttering he reached another internal table where a mature but beautiful woman, redhead and attentive, attended the old man. He showed her the bus transit card and told her that it had expired:

  -No problem, sir. I'll do the papers right away.

   I went to sit in the lobby and saw that the "Director" had taken off her pronounced back of her chair behind the table in her cubicle and laughed happily with the two receptionist girls in front of the audience that was waiting for.

   There was also an attractive young man standing next to the girls. I heard the “director” says out loud, because she didn't know how to measure her voice even if it was a whisper:

  -Sorry me, girls. But I prefer to work with men because women are always in gossips.

  She had no shame in making that statement. I thought the public were all ignorant and foolish and they didn't live up to their philosophy that matched that of the German writers of the 19th and 20th century.

  They were very eloquent, with the eloquence of an unconnected electric iron.

  Only I paid attention. They didn't fool me.

  What would be the officials who attended the "Barometric" - extraction  hoses  foul content of the black wells. Would they have protection chinstraps? Who knows, I only saw a individual asking for that service.

  I went in search of the old man and the girls talked so much stimulated by the presence of the young man colleague that they didn't notice my step.

  Already in front of the Redhead Lady, she told me:

   -I added a paper for diapers because  the lord  tells me that he urinates several times a day.

  "Right," I said, "it's a matter of the prostate.

    We leave Social Assistance and return to Transit very close there. There the good lady saw us and said to come closer.She looked at the PC and upset, but without losing her kind smile, she told us that the new contract hadn't come to her computer but that she was going to renew the old man's transit card anyway.

   We left there happy and glad. At last we had found someone friendly who treated everyone as if it were a relative without so much bureaucracy or delays although an army of bureaucrats, whose positions by politics or contest, were in charge of caring for the poor.

   But behold, the old man had forgotten his diaper card. We returned to social assistance.

  The "Director", who had apparently left her post for the rest of the day because her job consisted of what I saw, in drinking a lot of coffee brought by the secretaries, remained standing next to the receptionists in a in a talk where the lyric and pure poetry of the Uruguayan bards was broken with sympathy to the young colleague, fashions and I don't know how many silly things.

 I went straight to see the red-haired lady who had attended the old man before.

  -Mrs. I think you forgot the paper of diapers - that while I left the old man sitting in the waiting room.The beautiful lady called a blonde also young and beautiful and told her to look, in I don't know what place, the paper to lift the diapers. 

   Meanwhile I went out and stopped a minute in front of the receptionists

  .-Sir! You don't know what to expect number and to be called?-I exploded with my famous anger at so many delays and bureaucracy.

  -I simply went to ask a question to the lady who attended my neighbor. Did you want me to take a turn for that too?

  -Yes!- the “director” told me in a pungent voice.

  I continued with my voice loud:

   -You have spent the morning with the buttocks attached to a chair and now entertain the receptionists with their talk of cyberspace, human post and French literature. Or am I wrong? Also, how did you get to work here. If they need personnel who have a sensitivity and sympathy towards the elderly and the poor who never complain about anything. But with me things are different. Now you will see how a truck falls on you.

  I turned and sat down. I had already discharged those without anything and the sick from that treatment.

  The "Director" began to laugh loudly. I already know that laugh to hide a defeat and the embarrassment that had passed before her teammates.

   Finally the young blonde handed me a pink diaper paper.

  -Where do we pick them up?-said I

   -Here next, next to Liceo No. 5.Besade us.

   I said goodbye only to the young blonde receptionist for being kind, sensitive and possibly with a vocation to attend public even if they are sick or poor.In total silence the old man and I left the premises.

   But that was not all. We found the Lyceum and asked some students if it was high school 5.

   -No Sir. This is the Liceo 1. The 5 is about ten blocks from here.

   -"Leave that,"- the old man told me-. Another day I buy the diapers in the  store.

  .-Leave me. I'm already accustomed to the public bureaucracy of some Maldonado Institutions. I'll take care of tomorrow to find out and look for them. Another day like this and you got a Thrombotic EVA or a Myocardial Infarction. And now that the Elections for President are approaching, all the officials are scrambled. If the ruling party changes, many positions for cronyism are in danger.

   The old man returned home. This time with his free bus card.

  I arrived hungry and prepared a ham and cheese sandwich with sugar-free coke, by passing the diet prescribed by my Diabetologist and I prepared to write this article that is pure truth.

        DR. OVA.
     05-08-2019.

  POSTDATA: I AM URUGUAYAN CITIZEN FOR 25 YEARS. I HAVE VOTED THREE TIMES FOR A PRESIDENT WHO REPRESENTS US. 

  URUGUAY IS A DEMOCRATIC COUNTRY WITH A RICH INSTITUTIONAL TRADITION. THE CONSTITUTION GIVES ME THE RIGHT TO PREPARE THE MANAGEMENT OF SOME INSTITUTION OR BY THE CONTRARY, TO SIGN UP ITS DEFICIENCIES THAT CAN BE AMENDED TO MY JUDGMENT. WITHOUT KNOWING EVERYTHING, I CRITICIATE THE MALTRATE THAT SOME INSTANCE OF THE GOVERNMENT, BUROCRATISM APPEARS, GIVE TO THE PEOPLE, ABOVE ALL IF THEY ARE POORS OR SICKS. 

  CRITICISM OF OFFICIALS WITHOUT VOCATION TO TAKE CARE OF THE NEEDS WITH IRONY, HUMOR AND A HIGHLIGHT SHUT THEM PUT THEM IN EVIDENCE TO THOSE THAT WITHOT A SMILE ATTEND THE NEEDED. 

  THOSE WHO KINDLY ATTEND A GOOD PAYMENT FOR THEIR EXCELLENT WORK. 


  THOSE WHO READ THIS ARTICLE, WITHOUT MENTIONING NAMES, KNOW WHO I AM GOING TO.

ASISTENCIA SOCIAL EN MALDONADO. UNA HISTORIA REAL

 

  ASISTENCIA SOCIAL EN MALDONADO. UNA HISTORIA REAL

  Hoy en la mañana acompañé a un vecino anciano que rengueaba  por el dolor en piernas ya sin una circulación eficiente. Se le había vencido la tarjeta de tomar el bus gratuitamente y debía renovarlo.

  Yo pagué el pasaje por los dos hacia el centro de Maldonado. Fuimos, con descanso a cada  cinco pasos del anciano, a renovar dicha tarjeta de tráfico. La señora que atendía este trámite-toda dulzura y simpatía, buscó en la  PC mientras nosotros esperábamos. Nos dijo que ya había transcurrido un año y que debíamos ir a Asistencia Social bajo el estadio de fútbol principal de Maldonado a renovarla.

  Yo presto, casi arrastrando con una mano al anciano, llegamos al sitio. No podía subir las escaleras por lo que tomamos un elevador al segundo piso donde se encontraba ASISTENCIA SOCIAL. Allí sentadas en unas sillas  tras una mesa, dos jóvenes nos preguntaron qué era lo que el anciano precisaba.

  Una era una joven rubia, de cutis rosado por el carmín, labios rojos y cabello sostenido por una cinta, muy risueña y amable. La otra era otra joven obesa pero morocha y con rostro lindo, cargada de maquillaje con los labios de un tinte negro y pelo encrespado que lo había trenzado en  largos mechones tipo raftafari recogidos  también con un lazo en la nuca. Pero era obesa, con senos opulentos casi le llegaban al ombligo, amplias caderas y cintura inexistente. Unos zapatos negros de plataformas gigantes- no sé cómo podía caminar- calzaban sus exuberantes pies de joven atractiva.

 Tomamos una tarjeta con el número 9. Así que tendríamos que esperar mucho tiempo. Paciencia, le dije al anciano, cansado ya de tantos trámites burocráticos.

  Habia un cartel en un cubículo donde proclamaba "Asistencia Social" y me dirigí a él. Había otra joven de ascendencia indígena mezclada con morena que no atendía a nadie. Allí la vi sentada mientras las otras jóvenes le llevaban vasos descartables y tazas de café, una y otra vez.

  ¿Será la directora?- me dije y le pregunté:

  -Perdone usted por interrumpir su café de las 11: 30 de la mañana, ¿Pero es aquí donde atiende Asistenta Social? 
  

  - SÍ- me dijo sin sonreír, y continuó sorbiendo su adorable café.

  Y así pasaron los minutos sin que la “Directora” o cualquier puesto que tuviera, atendiera a público alguno.

   Por fin le llegó el turno al anciano que acompañaba. Trastabillando llegó a otra mesa interna donde una mujer madura pero bella, pelirroja y atenta, atendió al anciano. Este le enseñó la tarjeta del tránsito en bus y le dijo que había caducado:

 -No hay problema Señor. Enseguida le hago los papeles.

   Yo me fui a sentarme en el lobby y vi que la “Directora” había despegado su pronunciado trasero de su silla tras la mesa de su cubículo y reía alegremente con las dos chicas  recepcionistas frente al público que esperaba. También había un joven atractivo de pie junto a las muchachas. A la “directora” le escuche decir en voz alta, pues no sabía medir su voz aunque fuera en un susurro:

  -Perdónenme, chicas. Pero yo prefiero trabajar con hombres porque las mujeres siempre están en chimentos.

  

  No tuvo pudor al hacer aquella afirmación. Pensaba que el público eran todos ignorantes y tontos y no estaban a la altura de su filosofía que igualaba a  la de los escritores alemanes del siglo XIX  y XX.

  Eran muy elocuentes, con la elocuencia de una plancha eléctrica sin conectar.

  Solo yo presté atención. A mí no me engañaban.

  Cómo serían los funcionarios que atendían la "Barométrica"- extracción con mangueras del contenido nauseabundo de los pozos negros. ¿Tendrían barbijos de protección? Quién sabe, solo vi a individuos preguntando por aquel servicio. 

  Fui en busca del anciano y las chicas conversaban tanto estimuladas por la presencia del joven colega que no se percataron de mi paso.

 Ya frente a la Dama Pelirroja, esta me dijo:

  -Le agregué un papel para pañales pues en Señor me dice que orina varias veces al día.

  -Cierto- le dije- es un asunto de la próstata.

  Salimos de Asistencia Social  y regresamos a Tránsito muy cerca de allí. Allí la buena señora nos vio y dijo que nos acercáramos.

 Buscó en la PC y contrariada, pero sin perder su sonrisa amable, nos dijo que no le había llegado el nuevo contrato a su ordenador pero que de todas formas iba a renovar la tarjeta de transito del anciano. Salimos de allí contentos y felices. Al fin habíamos encontrado a alguien amable que trataba a todos  como si de un familiar se tratara sin tanto burocratismo ni demoras aunque un ejército de burócratas, cuyos puestos por política o concurso, se ocupaban de atender a los pobres.

  Pero he aquí que al anciano se le había olvidado la tarjeta de los pañales. Volvimos a la asistencia social.

  La “Directora”, que había dejado su puesto al parecer por el resto del día pues su trabajo consistía por lo que vi, en beber mucho café traído por las secretarias, permanecía de pie al lado de las recepcionistas en una plática donde la lírica y la pura poesía de los bardos uruguayos se entrecortaba con la simpatía al joven colega, modas y no sé cuántas boberías.

 Yo pasé directamente a ver a la Señora pelirroja que había atendido al anciano antes.

   -Señora. Creo que olvidó del papel de los pañales- eso mientras yo dejaba al anciano sentado en el salón de espera.

   La bella señora llamó  a una rubia también joven y bella y le dijo que buscara, en no sé qué lugar, el papel para levantar los pañales. Mientras tanto yo salí y me detuve un minuto frente a las recepcionistas.

  -¡Señor! ¡Usted no sabe que tiene que esperar número y que lo llamen!

  Yo exploté con mi famosa ira ante tantas demoras y burocratismo.

   -Yo pasé simplemente a hacer una pregunta a la señora que atendió a mi vecino. ¿Acaso quería  que sacara también un turno para eso?

  -Si- me dijo la “directora” con voz acre.

  -Usted se ha pasado la mañana con las nalgas pegadas a una silla y ahora entretiene a las recepcionistas con su charla del ciberespacio, el post humano y la literatura francesa. ¿O me equivoco? Además, cómo entró a trabajar aquí. Si necesitan personal que tenga una sensibilidad y simpatía hacia los ancianos y los pobres que nunca se quejan de nada. Pero conmigo las cosas son diferentes. Ahora va a  ver cómo le cae un camión encima.

  Di media vuelta y me senté. Ya me había descargado de aquel trato a los sin nada y a los enfermos.

   La “Directora” comenzó a reír fuertemente. Ya conozco esa risa para esconder una derrota y el bochorno que había pasado ante sus compañeros.

   Por fin la rubia joven me entregó un papel rosado para los pañales.

   -¿Dónde los levantamos?

  -Aquí al lado, junto al Liceo No. 5.

  Yo dije adiós solo a la rubia joven recepcionista por ser amable, sensible y posiblemnete con vocación de atender público aunque sean enfermos o pobres.

  En un silencio total el anciano y yo abandonamos el recinto. Pero eso no fue todo. Encontramos el Liceo y les pregunté a unos alumnos si era el liceo 5.

  -No. Este es el Liceo 1. El 5 queda como a diez cuadras de aquí.

   -Deja eso- me dijo el anciano-. Otro día averiguamos sobre los pañales mientras tanto yo los compro en el almacén.

  -Déjeme a mí. Ya estoy acostumbrado al burocratismo público de algunas Instituciones de Maldonado. Yo me encargo mañana de averiguar y  buscárselos. Otro día como este y le  da un AVE Trombótico o un Infarto del Miocardio. Y ahora que se acercan las elecciones están todos los funcionarios revueltos. Si cambia el Partido gobernante muchos puestos por amiguismos peligran.

    El anciano volvió a su casa. Esta vez con su tarjeta gratuita del bus.

  Yo llegué con hambre y me preparé un sándwich de jamón y queso con coke sin azúcar, pasando por alto la dieta prescripta por mi Diabetóloga y me dispuse a escribir este artículo que es pura verdad.

   

                         DR. OVA   
05-08-2019   


  POSTDATA: SOY CIUDADANO URUGUAYO DESDE HACE 25 AÑOS. HE VOTADO TRES VECES POR UN PRESIDENTE QUE NOS REPRESENTE. URUGUAY ES UN PAÍS DEMOCRATICO CON UNA RICA TRADICIÓN INSTITUCIONAL.

   LA CONSTITUCIÓN ME DA EL DERECHO DE ALABAR LA GESTIÓN DE ALGUNA INSTITUCIÓN O POR EL CONTRARIO, SEÑALAR SUS DEFICIENCIAS QUE A MI JUICIO SE PUEDEN ENMENDAR.

 SIN SABERMELO TODO, CRITICO EL MALTRATO QUE ALGUNAS INSTANCIA DEL GOBIERNO, BUROCRATISMO APARTE, DAN AL PUEBLO, SOBRE TODO SI ES POBRE O ENFERMO. CRITICO A L@S FUNCIONARIOS SIN VOCACIÓN DE ATENDER A LOS NECESITADOS CON IRONÍA, HUMOR Y UNA DESTACADA SÁTIRA LOS PONGO EN EVIDENCIA A LOS QUE NI UNA SONRISA ATIENDEN AL NECESITADO.

  LOS QUE ATIENDEN CON AMABILIDAD UN BUEN PAGO POR SU EXCELENE TRABAJO. LOS QUE LEAN ESTE ARTÍCULO, SIN MENCIONAR NOMBRES, SABEN A QUIENES ME DIRIJO.  





 

   

TO THE READERS OF MY BLOG.

  

TO THE READERS OF MY BLOG. 

  THANK YOU FOR THE 200 078 READERS OF MY BLOG. ALMOST FROM ALL COUNTRIES. I THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE READING MY STORIES OF CUBA AND URUGUAY. OF POLITICAL HUMOR, COSTUMBRISM, AND ABOVE ALL, POLITIC SATIRAS

 BLOG: arcoorlo.blogspot.com 

 WITH LOVE.

ORLANDO VICENTE ÁLVAREZ

A 200 078 LECTORES DE MI BLOG.

A LOS LECTORES DE MI BLOG.

  MUCHAS GRACIAS POR LOS 200 078 LECTORES DE MI BLOG. A CASI TODOS LOS PAÍSES LE ESTOY AGRADECIDO POR SU PACIENCIA AL LEER MIS HISTRORIAS DE CUBA Y DE URUGUAY.

  DE HUMOR POLÍTICO, COSTUMBRISMO, Y SOBRE TODO SÁTIRA POLÍTICAS.

A 200 078 LECTORES DE MI BLOG, CON AMOR AGRADECIDO. 

   BLOG: arcoorlo.blogspot.com

       ORLANDO VICENTE ÁLVAREZ  

FIDEL CASTRO: FIRST TOP CUBAN MODEL OF A MULTINATIONAL COMPANY.

   FIDEL CASTRO: FIRST TOP CUBAN MODEL OF A MULTINATIONAL COMPANY.

  After our Commander in Chief suffered that spectacular fall on the steps down of a stage where he had offered another of his long speeches of glory, nationalism and other needs, it seems that it made him see that he was mortal as every human being. Did that trance humanize it?

  The flattering journalists gave few notes of the consequence of that spectacular fall in front of all the people who still endured their usual harangues. I remember "The Chronicles of a Rest" of the newspaper Granma, so that the people knew that the commander, recovering, still dealt with the affairs of the country.

  Then it was worse. Came his strange operation that was kept secret, although later they called a famous Spanish doctor to say “that they had done everything well” -How many dollars they have paid him? - the same surgeons who had operated the beloved Comandante Chávez years before , so that the people and the bad tongues of the world didn't suspect the ability of Cuban doctors.

  They attended to that human being - Fidel Castro - who, like other “immortals” in history such as Greta Garbo, Lenin, Stalin, etc., had created the legend of the mystery, the gift of ubiquity and who only knew their private life Ministers and closest relatives. -The population did not imagine that he shits and had sex as a mere mortal- No. The Gods don't do those things.

  Well, after the operation, the TV presented a commander who looked like a ghost: old age highlighted pre-morten features: gray-haired, with a white beard and like an obedient and sad child. But that was nothing. It seems that the beloved Commander had retrospectively seen how the utopian socialist or communist society had failed, and that had hit him more than his illness.

  Apparently, disappointed, he loosened and gave a chance to the capitalist transnationals or at least that seemed. I don't know if the image of a defeated communist and flexing his arms was fixed on TV around the world, to show that he was still alive, and with a sports team that said: Fidel Castro Ruz. But there was a detail that I think not much noticed. 

  The sports team sponsored him were no less than the multinational ADIDAS. After speaking for so many years of colonizing capitalism that changed until the dress of the people of underdeveloped countries with the corresponding Ideological Amusement. He was Adidas TOP MODEL for the world, in exchange for no one knows which deal. For the Cuban people I know it wasn't that brand. Look at our Commander in his last weeks!

  He had already recognized his mortality and prepared his will. Very easy. That he was cremated - he was very old and emaciated to mummify him like the old pharaohs or Lenin - but that his Mausoleum was next to Marti's, from whom he descended directly, not by inheritance of blood but by convenient confluence with his ideology. 

 And in a stone that inspired solidity and simplicity, as his Ego had been and with his simple name nothing more: FIDEL. Simple modesty?

  Already his flatterers would be responsible for walking his ashes throughout Cuba and an honor guard would guard his grave. Ultimate cult of the personality of an egotist.

  This was our first male TOP MODEL in his last days. A small concession to the "discredited" consumer society.

                        ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ

FIDEL CASTRO: PRIMER TOP MODEL CUBANO DE UNA COMPAÑÍA MULTINACIONAL.

 

 FIDEL CASTRO: PRIMER TOP MODEL CUBANO DE UNA COMPAÑÍA MULTINACIONAL.

      

  Después que nuestro Comandante en Jefe sufrió aquella aparatosa caída en los escalones bajándose de un estrado donde había ofrecido otro de sus largos discursos de gloria, nacionalismo y otras necesidades, parece que aquello le hizo ver que era mortal como todo ser humano. ¿Acaso aquel trance lo humanizo?

 Los  periodistas aduladores daban pocas notas de la consecuencia de aquella caída aparatosa frente a todo el pueblo que aun soportaba sus arengas de siempre. Recuerdo “Las Crónicas de un Descanso” del diario Granma, para que el pueblo supiera que el comandante, recuperándose, aun se ocupaba de los asuntos del país.

  Después fue peor. Vino su extraña operación que se mantuvo en secreto, aunque después llamaron a un famoso médico español para que dijera “que todo lo habían hecho bien”-¿Cuántos dólares le habrán pagado?- los mismos cirujanos que años antes habían operado al querido Comandante Chávez, para que el pueblo ni las malas lenguas del mundo no sospechara  de la capacidad de los galenos cubanos.

 Atendieron a aquel ser humano –Fidel Castro- que como otros “inmortales” de  la historia como Greta Garbo, Lenin, Stalin, etc., habían creado la leyenda del misterio, el don de la ubicuidad y que de su vida privada solo conocían sus ministros y familiares más cercanos. –la población no se imaginaba que cagaba y tenía sexo como un simple mortal- No. Los Dioses no hacen esas cosas.

  Pues después de la operación la TV presentó a un comandante que parecía un fantasma: la vejez le resaltaba los rasgos pre morten: canoso, con la barba blanca y como un niño obediente y triste. Pero eso no era nada. Parece que el querido Comandante había visto retrospectivamente cómo la utópica sociedad socialista o comunista había fracasado, y eso lo había golpeado más  que su enfermedad.

  Al parecer, desengañado, aflojó y dio un chance a las transnacionales  capitalista o al menos eso parecia. No sé si se fijaron en la TV de todo el  mundo la imagen de un comunista derrotado y flexionando los brazos, para demostrar que aún estaba vivo, y con un equipo deportivo que decia: Fidel Castro Ruz. Pero había un  detalle que creo no mucho notaron. El equipo deportivo lo patrocinaba nada menos que la multinacional ADIDAS.

  Después de hablar durante tantos años del capitalismo colonizador que cambiaba hasta la vestimenta del pueblo de los países subdesarrollados con el correspondiente Diversionismo Ideológico, era el  TOP MODEL de Adidas para el mundo, a cambio de nadie sabe cuál trato. Para el pueblo cubano yo sé que no era aquella marca. ¡Mira nuestro Comandante en sus últimas semanas!

  Ya había reconocido su mortalidad y preparó su testamento. Muy sencillo. Que lo cremaran-estaba muy viejo y demacrado para momificarlo como a los antiguos faraones o Lenin- pero que su Mausoleo estuviera junto al de Martí, de quien descendía directamente, no por herencia de sangre sino por conveniente confluencia con su ideario. Y en una piedra que inspirara solidez y sencillez, como su  Ego había sido y con su sencillo nombre nada más: FIDEL. ¿Simple modestia?

   Ya sus aduladores se encargarían de pasear sus cenizas por toda Cuba y una guardia de honor custodiaría su tumba. Ultimo culto a la personalidad de un ególatra.

   Así fue nuestro primer TOP MODEL masculino en sus últimos días. Una pequeña concesión a la “desprestigiada” sociedad de consumo.   

                              ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ 

  

MARIELA CASTRO ESPIN AND DIAZ-CANEL: THE ASEXUADA CASTRIST AND THE PRESIDENT REPEATER.

MARIELA CASTRO ESPIN AND DIAZ-CANEL: THE ASEXUADA CASTRIST AND THE PRESIDENT REPEATER.


  Apparently Dr. Mariela Castro Espín has been silenced lately. She no longer makes those delusional statements about SOCIALISM and the new experiences they have brought. The `people, who apparently have no alternative but to swallow their tongues as if they constituted a mass of ignorant people - "Where are the intellectuals who think for themselves and who aren't fooled by populist speeches anymore?” ¿Are they affraid for a change?

 The idea of the rulers - especially the late Fidel - for the peole who are tired of hunger and deprivation even before the blockade worsened.

  In the face of other alternative information, the people have to take off the boring round tables where the same thing is repeated over and over again.

  As the newspaper Granma published an article there at the beginning of the 90s. "A true Communist does not make mistakes" that even raised some lukewarm criticism from some revolutionary journalists. An opportunistic outcast who wanted to be more communist than Marx himself. 

  And you, Mariela, deceiving us that the construction of socialism is nothing more than "simple experiments". But until when are they going to be deceiving a part of the people who have lived from the benefactor state in exchange for their freedom and who don't want a true liberation?

  Now it seems that you are silent or they sent you to moderate your statements. You shadowed President Diaz-Canel himself and took center stage before the people. Uncreative the Chief - hand-put, not by popular choice - that only repeats phrases of the delirious commander in chief who has plunged the once prosperous island in a calamitous essay of failed communism. Even when?

   And the bad administration continues to wreak havoc among the second-hand leaders and the administrators of the poor wealth of the people.

  Already the people apparently in silence will raise their loud voice in protest against the annihilation of a population that doesn't have access to the CUC or the dollar.

  They have kidnapped Jose Marti, the real one, in a Martian Studies Center, while not presenting his writings on the true freedom and image he had against tyrants and his appreciation of American society with its capitalist dynamics.

  Martí belongs to all Cubans, those inside and outside. Don't monopolize him and make him a posthumous member of the CCP. 

  Martí would not like that reproach. Let students know the whole truth, not to turn to Facebook to find alternative information. No. The true José Marti. our great patriot.

  Mariela, princess heiress of Castroism and Diaz-Canel, measure well your statements that the people are already tired and the free countries too. 

 It's just a matter of time. History will not absolve you

              .Orlando Vicente Álvarez