During the recent Santa Cruz de Tenerife carnivals, the town hall only fined one citizen for urinating in public. Just one. Luckily, the identity of the offender has not been revealed. This anonymity must be safeguarded diligently because otherwise, the unfortunate person will be the subject of continuous mockery and taunting for the rest of their life. With over a hundred thousand people on the streets, he is the only one caught urinating. This happened even after one of our municipal leaders – I don’t know if it was José Bermúdez or Carlos Tarife – solemnly declared that the municipal regulations would be strictly enforced, as if it were September. But the unreality of the carnival festivity also taints the regulations. The regulations become another joke, not just during carnival time.
During carnivals – as we all know – nothing wrong can or does happen. It is a more ancient and certified classic than Fufa. This exceptional urinator incident is the unique and pure crystallization, the most refined expression, of an essential historical assertion. During Carnivals, no one urinates, except in the facilities graciously provided by the municipal services. Many years ago, like an annoying and fleeting breeze, some were surprised and asked about reports of sexual abuse during the carnivals. Some hysterics even went as far as asking about rapes. Everything was silenced as quickly and effectively as possible. If there is one street urinator for every 200,000 people who do not spill a drop on the asphalt, how could sexual assaults occur at our festivities? Perhaps, as a mere hypothesis, one rape could be found for every ten million inhabitants. And since we do not have ten million inhabitants here in Tenerife – for the time being, until Italians, Poles, Romanians, Ecuadorians, Venezuelans, or Bolivians say otherwise – we do not suffer from rapes. It took me decades to understand this, but I believe this is more or less how our public authorities reason. I remember at the beginning of the century being involved in a brawl where about twenty carnival-goers exchanged more blows than in a cathedral. An ex-classmate had the misfortune of losing a couple of teeth. The fight lasted less than ten minutes and dissolved into the bustling crowd as the sound of “I’m in love with you” reverberated loudly. The next day, of course, no one mentioned anything. It is absolutely unbelievable that there are no cases of abuse and sexual assaults during the carnivals, although going out in groups with friends and the tendency to interact only with acquaintances may mitigate certain behaviours. Thus, we carry all that implausibility with us until next year, and nothing happens. Or rather, nothing happens regarding what happens. The Santa Cruz carnival is the sum of all that is good without any evil, as famously stated by a theologian whose name I cannot recall. The only thing that is extensively reported is alcohol intoxication cases. It seems almost amusing and usually dissipates after a few hours or days without major consequences. Information is provided about those who cannot handle their drink properly, perhaps shedding a bit of bureaucratic pity on the record or press release. However, not a single word is mentioned about indigestions and stomach upsets caused by contaminated Moorish kebabs, rancid omelettes, churros fried in dark oils, or poisonous crazy potatoes. This is because it is well-known that the carnival stalls in Santa Cruz de Tenerife are the best in the world.
No novelty on the front line of our most solid collective identity hallmark, whose beautiful virtues have been refined to the point where no one spills outside the pot. It is like Koldo García, the former advisor to Ábalos, who had friends who made the most of the Canarian Health Service during the pandemic in exchange for little favours. Koldo urinated here alone. Neither Torres, nor Olivera, nor anyone from the Canarian Socialist Party or the blooming Government, shed a drop. A solitary single urinator. Now, that’s a joke.
