A disease called power

We were few, and then the grandmother gave birth. I suspect that with phrases like that, the alarm bells ring on the Moncloa seismographs. We were few with Leire, Koldo, and Ábalos, and Santos Cerdán enters the maternity ward. We were few with the aforementioned, and the amnesty, which Brussels doesn't believe is in the general interest, but in Sánchez's interest, breaks the water. We were still few, and the "unique and generalizable" financing explodes. And when we were solemnly receiving these funds, immigration entered the catalog of problems that can no longer be stored in the "issues that time will resolve" folder.

I'm not surprised Pedro Sánchez has lost so much weight. María Jesús Montero claims it's because he's pushing Spain, and that consumes countless calories. I'm in no position to argue with her. I can only add two small details to such a scientific diagnosis. First, Mr. Sánchez has the reward of good macroeconomic data and the fortune of a handsome inheritance from Rajoy, unlike the French, who brought the republic to the brink of bankruptcy and led it to cuts that would make the accused Montoro tremble. And second, governing Spain without an absolute majority is extremely difficult, as Yolanda Díaz has already warned with good reason.

It's extremely difficult, especially if you've achieved a majority through complex agreements and parties whose objectives don't quite fit into the Constitution. All of this has three pernicious effects: it turns the Constitutional Court into a body with powers beyond any foreseeable scope; each passage of a law becomes a thriller, and it entrenches the idea that the Prime Minister is a hostage to minorities who influence his policy and render his word worthless. Evidence: he hasn't been able to present the budget so far, or a significant law like the reduction of working hours must wait until autumn to see if there's enough time to convince Puigdemont.

I'll say more: all this could even have positive results—such as improving the climate in Catalonia—if Spanish politics didn't suffer from another disease that complicates everything, fosters polarization, breeds hatred, and worsens relations between blocs, which are increasingly at odds with each other. That disease is the obsession with power: everything is done and judged in terms of either conquering or maintaining power, and that's all there is to it. The current debate is limited, on the part of the PSOE, to saying that the PP did worse. On the part of the PP, it's to calling for Sánchez's resignation. And on the part of the media, it's to certifying whether something benefits the government or the opposition. The rest is pure destruction: the right, with its sordid desire for the government to fail, even if it means a failure for the country; and the left, for Feijóo to collapse, even if that means handing power to the far right, something the so-called progressive government is doing with surprising generosity and manifest dedication, except in Murcia, where the PSOE is offering its votes to the PP so it won't be forced into a pact with Vox. That is consistency. The opposite is obscene obsession with power.

SCRAPS

Montoro . I'm sorry to say it, but this is what we saw and heard yesterday: an outburst of joy over the indictment of former minister Cristóbal Montoro for favoring certain companies and, no less, charging for changing a law. If the court ruling concludes that Montoro trafficked in laws, it turns out he wasn't just a minister: he was a lobbyist. And, moreover, corrupt or corrupting.

Bullfighters . The most difficult ministries are those of María Jesús Montero, Pilar Alegría, and Grande-Marlaska. The first, because he has to satisfy Catalonia with money and keep his distance in Andalusia. The second, because acting as a spokesperson in the current situation isn't reporting; it's bullfighting. And the third, because it must be very difficult to ignore the reports of the central operational unit, as the highest authority of the Civil Guard.

Sunday people . I invite you to try a test this weekend: count the ministers who appear on TV. It's always five. And always the same ones. And always the candidates to preside over autonomous communities. Don't call them Sunday people: they need promotion.

Sorry . When Manuel Arburúa stepped down as Minister of Trade in 1957, he asked Franco for an explanation, and Franco gave it to him: "Get your head around it, Arburúa, they're coming for us." Sánchez hasn't yet become a Francoist, but look at how his entourage explains the crises seventy years later: "They're coming for us." It sounds exactly the same.