Isabel Díaz Ayuso: Spain, imperial province | Madrid

I also wanted to grow up in a residential suburb, run a 50-cent lemonade stand, ride a bike to high school, have a locker full of pictures of my idols, invite the head of the cheerleaders to the prom, then living a crazy youth in a shared apartment in Brooklyn. Thanks to the movies, the series, the songs, some novels, I grew up thinking that Spain was a sad and gray copy of the real reality, that it was in the United States, deceived like those poor prisoners who lived chained inside the cave of Plato.

Here we discuss whether we are Spanish, or European, or Catalan, or Basque, or Asturian, but it is all easier: we are Americans. The soft power The cultural culture of the empire has been sedimentation over the years that nationality within our heads, although we do not have the right to a passport. You realize when you travel to New York and everything is strangely familiar, as if instead of going on a trip you had returned home.

The same thing happens to Isabel Díaz Ayuso, who is from my fifth. A New York is going to show off, to tell that the Americas are going to be made, although the Americas are already well done: the events attended by the Madrid president were not so bad, almost irrelevant within the American context. But they look great in the newsletter! It reminds me of an essay by Antonio Muñoz Molina (All that was solid, Seix Barral), where he recounts how so many municipalities or autonomous communities squandered public money in lavish New York events that no one in New York was interested in. But in Spain, as a good imperial province, all this is sold magnified: you have to come from abroad with great success.

Previously Ayuso had confessed his ambition to turn Madrid into a new Broadway, as so many have wanted to turn it into a new SoHo, or a new Silicon Valley, or a new whatever, instead of a new a better Madrid that is what, I say, Madrid politics should be about

Sergio C. Fanjul

So Ayuso strolls exultant through the streets of New York, with the air of the protagonist of Sex in New York, from a cosmopolitan allergic to that thing so small-town that is indigenismo. He has only forgotten the Starbucks cardboard glass (Miguel Ángel Rodríguez has not been fine there). Previously, he had confessed his ambition to turn Madrid into a new Broadway, as so many have wanted to turn it into a new SoHo, or a new Silicon Valley, or a new whatever, instead of a new a better Madrid that is from what, I say, Madrid politics should deal with.

In the end Ayuso and his whispers hit the spot because, despite his obvious shortcomings for the position, he represents everyone’s small ambitions: have a few beers, see a musical, go to El Corte Inglés, travel to New York and tell about it. exaggerated to friendships. May God not press too hard and, little virgin, little virgin, I stay as I am. But the future is already China: will our grandchildren want to live in a cool of Beijing whose existence we still do not know?

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