Enrique Arriaga, still vice president of the Council of Tenerife, is a dying political ectoplasm that defends tooth and nail its participation in electoral debates, whether organized by public or private entities. It doesn’t matter. What Arriaga wants is to occupy space. Having a signifier, even if it no longer has any meaning. The public media must abide by certain rules and guarantee pluralism, obviously and necessarily. What I don’t fully understand is that the electoral boards stick their noses in the debates organized by the media, corporations or private associations. This vigilant attitude was understandable in a past in which the parties were weak and pluralism was restricted, even out of sheer bad habit. It is no longer like that and we should get used to inviting whoever you want. If some cultural organization – to give an example – wants to invite left-wing parties to an electoral debate, why is it obliged to call the PP, Canarian Coalition or Miguel Angel Revilla? What if someone is interested in the discussion between nationalist, regionalist and pro-independence parties in view of the elections on the 28th? Some normative or regulatory guardianships no longer make sense.
Otherwise, Ciudadanos, in the Canary Islands, never became a true political party. It functioned as a club of notables and assimilates in which individuals bossed around with the consent or indifference of the Madrid leadership, in whose hands were all strategic decisions, including, de facto, the appointment or ratification of candidacies. In reality, Ciudadanos entered into crisis as early as 2019, when it was decided from above that Vidina Espino was the candidate for the Presidency of the Government of the Canary Islands. Many – especially in Tenerife – refused to accept what they considered a tongo. But it was a relative and consented tongo from the heights and before which the two Canarian deputies in Congress, Melisa Rodríguez and Saúl Ramírez, did not open their mouths. A few months after the regional elections, the coordinator of Ciudadanos, Mariano Cejas, resigned. At its best, at the end of 2018, Ciudadanos had between 1,500 and 1,600 militants on the islands, although a significant part of them did not pay dues, and the vast majority resided in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Santa Cruz de Tenerife and La Laguna. A year later, barely half remained. It is impossible to know today if Ciudadanos has any militants in addition to those that appear on the electoral ballots.
Both those who approached the Coalition and those who did so ignored the instructions of an increasingly confused and indifferent leadership in Madrid, more occupied with their own shipwreck than with the pathetic adventures of their outermost colleagues and former colleagues. Venues were closed. Secretaries were fired and loans were closed. The parliamentary group was divided. If Arriaga finally received the reins of the partisan, it was neither because of his loyalty, nor because of his political capacity, nor because of his dazzling management, nor because of his hussar plant that has outgrown his uniform decades ago, but because he was the only public office relevant that Ciudadanos kept. “You have permission to turn off the light and close the door,” they told him. The vice president did not think so. He had already provisioned some female dogs for a campaign that was basically his own. While he was convincing some naive people and placing them in positions with zero expectations of exit, he proclaimed himself a candidate for the Mayor of Santa Cruz and, again, for the Cabildo, to simulate the maneuver: transform into a Matilde Zambudio. Hasn’t the partner ended up on a PSOE list? Why not him? Frankly, what’s the point of debating politically with this gentleman?
