Following the death in 2011 of the Paramount Chief of North Korea, Kim Jong Il, Southern press reported the imposition of up to six months of hard labor on dictator’s subjects who did not convincingly mourn the leader’s death. The same type of punishment was reserved for those citizens who had not participated in the mourning meetings organized by the regime or whose pain did not seem genuine, felt, sincere.
The risk of being forced to break stone if one did not spend a week drowning in a sea of tears caused scenes that in many cases abounded in ridicule. Dozens of women waved the car day newspaper in competition for the loudest cry; construction workers, tough guys all of them, ran as a group to the foot of a giant mural to kneel with their faces in their hands, lamenting the disappearance of the guardian of the regime; the population crowded around the statues of the Beloved Leader in an unparalleled contest to show affection for the loss; the North Korean public television presenter took advantage of prime time to mourn him live before the entire country, undoubtedly in the role of her life, graduating the drama, her voice modulated to emphasize the tragedy, nervous, never sure if the ‘cryometer’ It would have validated him enough not to end up hitting the mallet in a quarry. If you can lose a few minutes look for the videos, they are a monument to the tragicomedy of fear and overacting as not seen since the days of Arias Navarro. That here, eye, half toasted and the other half cried.
There are tears of obligation and tears of conviction. Tears like those of North Korea and tears like those of the British people in the last goodbye to their queen. One governed suffocatingly. Now his son does it, and he does the same. The other, simply, reigned in the constitutional terms established in the 20th century for the generality of the monarchies of Europe. One and the other tears give the measure of two leaders who in no case were elected by their people, but imposed by military force, not so long ago in the Korean case, or by the grace of God and tradition if we speak of England. , many of whose first kings did not hesitate to brandish the sword to achieve their goal, in case of Alfred the Great, that king of Wessex who insisted on uniting England despite himself, with the infantry advancing against the neighboring kingdoms and against the pagans who tried to plunder the British Isles. History is written like this.
The cry of the people is the thermometer that measures respect and devotion to a king or queen. In England he has cried until meghanmarkle, that it is a lot to cry; even David Beckham, who has waited hours in line to say his last goodbye to the monarch without the threat of serving a sentence of forced labor. The value of a ruler is checked after death. Ceausescu, Saddam or Gadaffi they ended up executed at the hands of the population after years of dictatorship and tyranny. Kim Jong-un should be taking note.
Here we had Frank, and while one Spain rejoiced, we said, the other, the one that did not know anything else and lived in shelter, queued up before his body exposed in the Palacio de Oriente. You see, always two Spains bordered on the extremes of the contradiction.
After ten days of infodemic about Buckingham Palace, one cannot avoid thinking what will happen in our country in a few years, and how a king who had all his people in favor squandered that inheritance for a matter of money. Vulgar, unfit for kings. He will be mourned, sure, but he would have been mourned more. In nations like Spain, no one forces anyone to cry or mourn. In the United Kingdom neither, and it turns out that they had a queen with more than resounding popular support. Tears for conviction. Far behind is the noble profession of the mourner, those women that emerged in Egyptian culture and were still in style until recently in rural areas, who were paid to mourn the dead who had no one to mourn them. Poor man who, having been everything to his loved ones, leaves this world with no one to cry for him.