And all of us, pawed over in the same mud
Allow me, readers, a brief digression born of emotional discharge, before returning to Cuba.
I am compelled by the detritus expelled from the mental sphincters of absurd and corrupt leaderships, escorting the funeral procession of Western economies in both hemispheres.
Fidel’s Marxism proved to have an unexpected bloodless strategy: recolonizing the United States through Spanish-speaking populations. A delayed revenge from old Hispanic-British imperial feuds.
A son of those expatriates, Marco Rubio, now U.S. Secretary of State, definitively returns to the grave the bones of a frustrated would-be viceroy, once bolivarianly used by Chávez as relics to adorn his socialist experiment.
Meanwhile, on Paraguayan soil, other commu-socialists attempt to revive another imperial exploitation, seeking revenge against a so-called “selfish” president unwilling to continue gifting Europe its security.
Offended, they are now forced to confront reality with their exhausted royal coffers.
After barely 25 years of keeping us trapped in the machine, the aristocratic bureaucracy finally deigned to look at the South American delegation.
In a few days, they rediscovered America, only to reuse it as a hostage, threatening to assemble a commercial Frankenstein.
Let us dissect the so-called Indo-European virtual market, which was never, is not, and will never be anything more than a metaverse.
A true market is open to the public, free of price restrictions, tariffs, and absurd regulations imposed by sellers or buyers alike.
This one, like the Southern Market, will never function. It is sealed shut by legalistic padlocks on both sides.
Our buying counterpart sets Rue de Rivoli ablaze with tractors, dumping hay bales along the Champs-Élysées.
They demand subsidies, a populist word meaning redistribution: taking from others to give to themselves.
They resist the withdrawal from a comfortable rural life financed by NATO, Trump, and consumers buying a single apple per week. Competition terrifies them.
They voted for communists and socialists to preserve subsidies.
Either they change course, regardless of public spending collapse, or they themselves will be replaced.
This resembles a wrestling spectacle more than shared aspirations.
Europe, so beloved by tourists, lets everyone in, yet forgets that we remain sudacas.
They wish to use us as a shield to prick Trump’s thumb. They do not know him.
Raising their heads and flashing a middle finger through half-signed agreements will not intimidate him.
After 25 years of ignoring us, we celebrate their sudden attention.
They did not notice how abrupt the shift was. Now they no longer show us their backsides.
Ursula, wearing the disdain of a frustrated countess, hurried past, offering a hand instead of a cheek, and fled.
She arrived resentful, compelled by what remains of a trembling, kneeling Europe collapsing under criminal pressure.
None of Europe’s principal actors bothered to stoop to the Indian village.
It was clearly a pressure tactic. A final grasp. Had the reaction differed, we would have been dismissed without apologies.
What was agreed? Nothing.
Soon they will insult us again, claiming we are unfit to serve them raw materials to their liking.
Once they sold us mirrors and carried off the wealth in caravels. Today they seek the same, by container ship.
Let us be clear. They despise us. But they are bankrupt by self-inflicted damage.
Social uprisings loom, unintegrated populations grow restless, unsustainable demands threaten aristocratic bureaucracies playing dress-up with top hats and canes.
They must now manage their own defense against Putin, after foolishly closing their energy sources under an agenda ignored by the largest polluters, leaving them hostages to Russian energy.
These socialist aristocrats pretend Europe still has credit.
Our eighteenth-century leaderships drop their trousers and rush to receive them, dreaming of prices they cannot offer due to socialist internal costs.
Ask the ECB. It has nothing left, not even a cigarette behind the ear.
They hope Sánchez will make the adjustment.
Give Greenland to Trump before he revives the tariff game.
And we continue this self-imposed martyrdom, with rulers we never needed, an external tariff enriching prebendary businessmen fishing in our own pond while the poor cannot afford local prices set in São Paulo and Buenos Aires.
Let Trump and Marco Rubio airlift Castro’s, Chávez’s, and Maduro’s henchmen to the dungeons they earned.
End the economic castration of our peoples.
If you truly want a twenty-first-century market, look at Temu, Mercado Libre, and the apps enabling fair exchange.
We do not need so many useless diplomats.
No decades of travel, no false headlines.
Without bureaucracy, technically flawless, China opened a market for the poor.
So did Marcos Galperín.
They open markets without permission, subsidies, or artificial pricing.
Xenophon already advised in the fifth century: household economy, property rights, self-sufficiency, exchange value, and the utility of goods.
The opposite of what corrupt exploiters did with Mercosur, exterminating private capital built on individual effort.