Soledad, in addition to a beautiful name, is a concept that describes our strange President from head to toe. Javier Milei first exploded with emotion for having taken another photo with Donald Trump in Washington and because they accommodated him in the Blair House residence, intended only for important visits (“I slept in the same room as Churchill,” he even exclaimed as if begging for a little affection). But now, back in Argentina, he sees that the support of his powerful friends from the North does not translate into the electoral polls ahead of Sunday, October 26. Trump can promise the dollars he wants, even buy pesos to avoid a run in Buenos Aires, but the electorate and the market distrust the supposed bailout and the price of the greenback continues to move nervously. He is the image of impotence: a President who has supposedly been rescued, but who still continues to sink. Especially when Trump, days before the visit, unravels these phrases before a North American journalist: “Argentina is fighting for its life. Do you understand what that means? They have no money. They have nothing. They are fighting very hard to survive. They are dying.”
Milei is extremely lonely if even her main benefactor speaks like this.
Let’s review the history of the libertarian leader, who always felt like a alone man and today proves it at the top of power. He is someone who, as a young man, was beaten by his father and bullied at school. Someone who had his first friends and his first partner after 30. Someone who spent many Christmases and New Years with the only company of his dog Conan, for whom he also served a glass of champagne. Someone broken, who for a long time had no other emotional support than that English mastiff and his sister Karina. Someone who, already in power, invites his journalist friends to listen to opera at the Olivos microcinema on Sundays (the first time, some did not know that the call was for that and expected an off the record) or who, after six hours of interview with “El Gordo Dan” on the Carajo streaming, exclaims: “I’m here to continue, eh.” Someone who organizes a Movistar Arena to celebrate themselves and get the pleasure of singing their favorite songs, like “El rock del gato”, in the midst of a crisis that gives the Government no respite.
They are all scenes of heartbreaking loneliness, which neither Trump nor the rescue of the North can make fade. Because sometimes it seems that Milei wanted to become President so as not to be so alone, to have new friends who celebrate him, sycophants who paint him as a lion or an emperor, cybermilitants who applaud his madness and insults. But that doesn’t seem to be turning out the way he thought, either.
After Sunday’s elections, an opportunity opens up to show change. If Milei takes advantage of it, if he accepts the outcome, acts on it and leaves his fantasy world behind, maybe he will start to feel less alone.
