Sánchez se juega el pellejo en el abismo diplomático para España, mientras acá en Puerto Rico, atrapados en el espejismo colonial de siempre, el gobierno se gasta millones mendigando una relevancia que no tiene.
Llevo una semana conteniendo el aliento. Mientras los cielos de
Irán se iluminan con un fuego que nadie sabe cómo apagar, Europa ha caído en un
seguidismo resignado. En este escenario, la figura de Pedro Sánchez emerge con
una extrañeza anacrónica. En un mundo de "hombres fuertes", el
presidente español se atrinchera en cuatro palabras: "No a la guerra".
No es un eslogan. Es una declaración de guerra a la guerra de Trump.
Mientras tanto, el resto de Europa dobla la rodilla. Friedrich
Merz, el de Alemania, ha elegido "besar el anillo" de Trump,
disparando el gasto militar al 5% para salvar su industria de los aranceles. Keir
Starmer, del Reino Unido, balbucea legalismos mientras cede sus bases para el
ataque.
Giorgia Meloni de Italia, agobiada, se pone de perfil, protegiendo sus activos y evitando molestar al gigante. Y Emmanuel Macron, el de Francia, intenta jugar al líder de la "autonomía europea", enviando naves a Chipre junto a España. Pero Macron es un equilibrista herido; busca liderar una Europa que no dependa de EE. UU., pero su propia inestabilidad en París lo hace ver más como un soñador que como un muro real contra Washington
¿Y España? Envía una fragata a Chipre. ¿Contradicción? No. Es el
último vestigio de europeísmo: proteger suelo de la Unión es un deber;
participar en una ofensiva ilegal es un crimen. Es un equilibrio funambulista
entre Dios y el Diablo, donde Trump parece encarnar a ambos.
Por eso Trump ya llama a Sánchez su "némesis". Es una medalla de honor peligrosa. Negar las bases de Rota y Morón no sale gratis; las amenazas de embargo comercial podrían golpear la mesa de cada ciudadano español. Pero hay algo digno en este "basta" frente a una política exterior de EE. UU. que mezcla racismo interno con delirios de expansión territorial.
¿Y qué pasa con Puerto Rico? ¿Importa algo?
Nuestra falta de coherencia amarga. Hace semanas, en FITUR, vimos a Sánchez estrechar la mano de Jenniffer González. Gastamos millones vendiendo una isla de postal, pero en la Realpolitik global, Puerto Rico no compone nada. Podemos tener al artista más escuchado del planeta, pero Bad Bunny es un entertainer y el poder se escribe con otros alfabetos.
El mundo sabe que somos una colonia. Peor aún: sabe que JGo representa la culminación del colonizado que mendiga el favor de un Washington que la ignora, mientras busca validarse en Madrid.
Sánchez, que arriesga su economía por no ser un subordinado,
difícilmente respetará a una administración boricua que es la antítesis de su
batalla. Somos una nota al calce; una isla que gasta lo que no tiene en ferias
de turismo mientras su destino se decide en pasillos donde no tenemos ni voz ni
voto.
Pedro Sánchez and his “No to war” against Trump’s Steamroller
Sánchez is putting his neck on the line in a
diplomatic abyss for Spain, while here in Puerto Rico, trapped in the same old
colonial mirage, the government spends millions begging for a relevance it
simply does not have.
I’ve been holding my breath for a week. As the skies
over Iran light up with a fire no one knows how to extinguish, Europe has
fallen into a state of resigned subservience. In this landscape, the figure of
Pedro Sánchez emerges with an almost anachronistic strangeness. In a world of
“strongmen,” the Spanish President has entrenched himself behind three words: “No
a la guerra” or “No to war.”
It isn’t an empty slogan. It is a declaration of war
against Trump’s war.
It’s impossible not to feel a chill. The shadow of the
2003 “Trio of the Azores” looms over us. Back then, Bush, Blair, and Aznar
signed off on an invasion built on lies. Today, the difference is that Trump is
brutally honest: he isn’t looking for allies; he demands subordinates. Sánchez
invokes that ghost not out of nostalgia, but as a warning: he refuses to let
Spain become, once again, the “third horseman” of a slaughter decided in
Washington.
Meanwhile, the rest of Europe is bending the knee. Friedrich
Merz, in Germany, has chosen to “kiss the ring,” spiking military spending to
5% to save his industry from Trump's tariffs. Keir Starmer, in the UK, stammers
legalisms while handing over his bases for the attack. Giorgia Meloni,
overwhelmed, remains non-committal, protecting her assets and avoiding any
friction with the giant. And Emmanuel Macron, in France, tries to play the
leader of “European autonomy” by sending ships to Cyprus alongside Spain, but
he is a wounded tightrope walker; his own instability in Paris makes him look
more like a dreamer than a real wall against Washington.
And Spain? It sends a frigate to Cyprus. A
contradiction? No. It is the last vestige of Europeanism: protecting Union soil
is a duty; participating in an illegal offensive is a crime. It is a high-wire
act between God and the Devil, in a world where Trump seems to embody both.
That is why Trump already calls Sánchez his “nemesis.” It is a dangerous badge
of honor. Denying the use of the Rota and Morón bases doesn’t come for free;
the threats of a commercial embargo could hit the kitchen table of every
Spanish citizen. But there is something dignified in this “enough” against a
U.S. foreign policy that blends domestic racism with delusions of territorial
expansion.
And what about Puerto Rico? Does it matter at all?
Our lack of coherence is bitter. Weeks ago, amid the
media noise of FITUR, we saw Sánchez shake hands with Jenniffer González. We
spend millions selling a postcard island, but in the world of Realpolitik,
Puerto Rico amounts to nothing. We can have the most listened-to artist on the
planet, but Bad Bunny is an entertainer, and power is written in a different
alphabet.
The world knows we are a colony. Worse yet: it knows
that JGo represents the pinnacle of the colonized, begging for favor from a
Washington that ignores her while trying to validate herself in Madrid.
Sánchez, who is risking his economy to avoid being a
subordinate, can hardly respect a Puerto Rican administration that is the very
antithesis of his struggle. We are a footnote; an island spending what it
doesn’t have on tourism fairs while its destiny is decided in hallways where we
have neither a voice nor a vote.
I’ve been thinking about Sánchez for days because he
represents the last stand for International Law. Standing firm against a Trump
who is turning the screws is an exercise in absolute loneliness. In a world of
leaders who “kiss the ring” out of fear of tariffs or bombs, staying grounded
in “No to war” is a solitary act. Let’s hope that, in the end, coherence isn’t
a luxury that only those with nothing left to lose can afford.
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