Thirty years have passed since Alcasser’s crime. Another aberrational behavior of some heartless whose victims were three girls who were in the worst place at the worst moment
Today I was going to start giving wax to the mayor Barcala – A good man, intelligent, a good manager, honest, close…, but imprisoned by his environment and by the decisions of someone who has no idea what the public wants. I would vote for him, but… he would have to start by getting rid of the security councilor and someone else with little or no idea.
I was thinking of giving Barcala wax, as head of the municipal executive, but I have to start with a book. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bother with the one-eyed cat. That shameless, knowledgable, resilient and anarchoid Cat goes like silk although, as always when one speaks truths like fists, since independence – my personal interest in the story that I tell in the cat is zero, although I saw an important novel from the first moment in which I learned about the case – whenever one writes from independence, a problem arises in the form of a more or less angry complaint or protest.
I’m not talking about “The One-eyed Cat”, I’m talking about another book that comes to my hand on Sunday afternoon. Sundays are usually, in the afternoons they are usually tedious and boring, with intractable ñordos on television and with the “sword of Demosthenes” – don’t correct me, the blood sausage is on purpose -, from the work week that is coming up.
The phone rings and I wake up in my earmuff: do you remember Peñalosa Gem? How can I not remember! She was an alert girl, extremely intelligent, with a spark and with the essential bad milk – even a little more – to be a good journalist of events and courts. She emigrated to Madrid, by force they hang, because the journalistic adventure, today, is an obstacle course, of tripping, of deadly traps everywhere. Many more than those that appear in any Chinese film.
Gema Peñalosa has written an important book with an obvious real basis. “Fire”. The story of a woman who sought justice in a bottle of gasoline. This book reminds us, with documentation and an exhaustive analysis, of a real case that took place more than twenty years ago in Benejúzar, in Vega Baja, Alicante.
How do you explain all this to the girl’s father who was there, crushed by grief and on the verge of madness from it?
A despicable guy, a book psychopath, rapes a thirteen-year-old girl. He is arrested, tried and sentenced. So far everything works perfectly in the field of justice. I would like to have seen his prison file, to have more complete information on such a vermin. Was it revenge, making effective the old law of Retaliation? Are we talking about repairing the damage for the brave with the same weapons as the aggressor and skipping all the protocols established by procedural or criminal law?
It’s very complicated. I have known a thousand rapists, a thousand murderers, a thousand thieves and many more. We do not know how a crime hurts until we are victims of it. What would I do – a feminist without a doubt, a defender of women against all aggression, whoever it comes from – if my daughter, my granddaughter, my sister or the love of my life were raped? Perhaps I would search, like that woman from Benejúzar, for a bottle of gasoline, Rambo’s knife, a “foreigner” pistol, and I would send to hell the son of a bitch who ruined my life by ruining that of any of my loved ones. One thing is the theory – law, order, sentence, compliance, reinsertion – and another to live it in one’s own flesh. I get it.
Thirty years have passed since Alcasser’s crime. Another aberrational behavior of some heartless whose victims were three girls who were in the worst place at the worst time. I lived that case up close because I took possession of the Directorate of the Valencia Penitentiary Center when they found the bodies of the girls. They commissioned me – one of the many browns that I ate in those ETA years together with the forced departure of Nanclares for the planning of my death by the terrorist band – they commissioned me to show my face so that they would break it in a program of television and from which the general director – completely useless – evaded because “she was a politician and did not want to expose herself to lynching.”
How do you explain that English Was he, until then, a normalized prisoner who had never shown signs of being able to commit that barbarity? How, when I reviewed his file, which I memorized, all I could see was a servile and hard-working electrician orderly who had taken the treatment team to the orchard with his angelic appearance of a cute and helpless child? How do you explain all this to the girl’s father who was there, crushed by grief and on the verge of madness from it?
In the midst of so much tragedy, let’s go now for the mayor, bridging the gap. I’m not talking about the big blunder that, far from leaving a “corralito” for beauties and three or four counted authorities, turns the Plaza de los Luceros, with the excuse of security, into a space for plugged-in and colleagues. I’m not talking about the big blunder, the result of intelligence as simple as the mechanism of a jug, of fining beggars. If I had seven hundred euros, I wouldn’t be begging but having an aperitif in Luceros. Another thing are the mafias that bring cripples, cripples, deformed and all kinds of needy to give pity, and place them as a businessman strategically places his workers. Look for the police and arrest those gangsters, but don’t be like that illiterate councilwoman who told me: you have to get the beggars out of the center. And where do we put them? On the periphery, in the populous neighborhoods? That’s like sweeping the trash under the rug.
The worst rule is the one that is not followed. I said this thirty years ago and a very right-wing union even took the phrase as a flag
I read a piece of news in a solvent newspaper that amazes me, if I still have the capacity for that emotion, except when the love of my life closes his eyes and sighs.
Gentlemen bikers, pay attention: “Fines to motorcycles that park in blue and orange zones for breaking the rule.” Great! There’s an ordinance prohibiting that parking lot. awesome.
I endure every morning, at 7.45 because I get up early despite being an unemployed, idle and broke old man, the traffic jam at Cabo de las Huertas and La Cantera until I pass the Port. One car, one occupant. SUVs, mercedazos, bemeuvazos, infinitis, SUV of all shapes and colors -many Ukrainians, how strange-. They contaminate, clog, occupy… but you have to mess with the motorcycles that unclog, we pollute less and take up less space. I am selling an impeccable Nissan with fifty thousand kilometers out of disgust and for not wanting to use it.
In the article there is an alarming phrase: “Sources from the Headquarters… assure that there has been no specific order to the agents to start fining motorcycles that fail to comply with the ordinance, which – according to what they add – to sanction is a matter that is in the hands of the agents”. #mecagoentoloquesemenea.
Let’s see if I found out. The ordinance is The police officers can comply or not comply with it at their free will and, whether they fine me or not, depends on the will of the specific agent at the specific moment.
The worst rule is the one that is not followed. I said this thirty years ago and a very right-wing union even took the phrase as a banner. Now I add another: Much worse than not complying with a rule is complying with it sometimes and sometimes not, on a whim, as I get caught.
I’m looking forward to getting fined. That day I will do a roundabout in a hundred meters to see if all the bikers are fined and I will go to the Constitutional Court. Let’s see if it’s true about the rule of law or we have charged ourselves, with some bullshit and others, the legal certainty that we presume. Dear Luis Barcala, do you want me to campaign for you? With the team of the socialists you have almost won it but… those blunders…