“The art of politics,” I told you then, “is not the art of the possible. It is the graffiti of the unpredictable. It is the scribble of chance.”
My poor president! Badgered for three years by Herrera’s pragmatism, Tácito’s fawning, and Seneca’s idealism! What would I say to you if this were your first day on the Eagle’s Throne? I’d remind you of the best aspects of our traditional benevolent dictatorship, so that you could endorse them or avoid them as you saw fit: “You don’t have to fear the president who’s passive, rather the president who’s unstoppably active.”
With you the opposite has always been true. Your passivity sparked more doubts than your action. And now, perhaps, you feel the supreme temptation of power. To be a leader who summons the energy of the nation and subjects us all to the voluptuous passivity of total obedience.
That is the easiest thing.
The most comfortable thing.
But it’s also the most dangerous. And you avoided that danger, my beloved, cherished president.
One day you said to me, “They think they’re fooling me by giving me those endless reports to read. They think I’m lethargic — as if I’ve been bitten by a tsetse fly. Wrong. I read at night, and I know everything. I’ve fooled them. I can sleep well at night.”
Yes, but the passive image you projected might be misinterpreted now. People might begin to demand a hyperactive president because authority can change its face from one day to the next (think about the past presidential successions, from Madero to Fox). The public feeds off paradox and adores contrast and contradiction.
Thank you, my dear friend, President Lorenzo Terán, for allowing me into your bedroom, where you’re bedridden, surrounded by nurses, doctors, intravenous tubes, sedatives. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to see your life complete.
I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again. I know that you haven’t allowed anyone other than your faithful mosquito Seneca to enter this room where power is approaching its end.
Goodbye, Mr. President. .
48. CONGRESSWOMAN PAULINA TARDEGARDA TO CONGRESSMAN ONÉSIMO CANABAL
This letter will be delivered to you by Jesús Ricardo Magón, a young aide to the new interior secretary, Nicolás Valdivia. I’m laughing. I can see you now, red as a beet at the idea of me divulging secrets to a government employee, no matter how lowly. You and I, Onésimo, with our determination and political wiles, can pull our Congress back into shape and put a few obstacles in the government’s way. . You and I, Onésimo, have all the gray matter we need to exploit the diffused power of our party-ocracy and make life hell for Lorenzo Terán. .
You asked for discretion. I’ll give you discretion, Onésimo, together with a present. The medium is the message, they said fifty years ago, and so if Valdivia’s little helper Magón is the medium, then he’s also the message.
This is it. The coast is clear for us to take action. I’ll get straight to the point. Cícero Arruza’s reading of the country’s domestic situation is all wrong. Arruza is a relic left over from another era, his day is over. He believes brute force is the only answer to problems, and that brute force can only be delivered by the army. This is his rather extravagant fantasy: He wants to unite all the governors and local bosses and then stage a military coup so that he can fill what he calls the “power vacuum ” (where would he have learned that?) created by President Lorenzo Terán’s passivity.
I’ve spoken to the leaders of each one of those local power bases, and I tell you, they’re delighted by the president’s passivity. Delighted because it’s in their interests. How could they not be happy about the absence of a central authority? Now they can do exactly what they want. You tell me if Cabezas in Sonora isn’t happy to govern his state with no interference whatsoever from the government. Or look at “Chicho” Delgado in Tijuana, making deals with the coyotes who smuggle illegals across the border and the U.S. immigration patrol that won’t let them through — until Governor Delgado extorts one and pays off the other. It is shameful, my dear Onésimo, an outrage that the forces of law and order in the United States have become so corrupt. I’m blushing. Haven’t I always said that the gringos know how to multiply any Mexican vice by the thousand and hide it by the million?
You will allow me a little joke every now and then, Congressman, won’t you? You who treat me like a nun. . I’m being serious again now. You tell me if Roque Maldonado in San Luis Potosí is unhappy about the fact that he deals directly with his Japanese investors; closes deals in El Gargaleote, that mysterious Potosí refuge that once belonged to the legendary strongman Gonzalo N. Santos; and possesses a fortune that the hardworking revolutionary Santos could never have dreamed of, since Maldonado takes a hefty commission with no interference from central government.
You tell me if the capo di tutti capi Silvestre Pardo wants some meddlesome government making waves in his Narcomex empire. Need I say more? There isn’t one governor, local boss, or drug trafficker who wants a military government with Cícero Arruza at the top, making off with the lion’s share when it comes to so-called profit distribution. Our general is either blind, crazy, or a complete imbecile. His calculations have failed him miserably. He’s going to find himself all alone in this coup.
Now do you see why it’s important for the government to know, and why the little heartthrob Jesús Ricardo Magón, with his irresistible angel face, should be the emissary?
I laugh, Onésimo, but look at me. The only one who escapes us is the sly, ambitious strongman of Tabasco, Humberto Vidales, “Dark Hand.” He’s always had his eye on the Eagle’s Throne, but since it’s always been just beyond his grasp (to be a soap opera villain, you have to know how to be discreet; you can’t go around curling your mouth, raising your eyebrows, and sniffing, wearing Cruz Diablo’s cape). He’s convinced that sooner or later one of his Nine Evil Sons, as he so lovingly refers to them, will sit on the throne and reclaim his God-given right — or so he thinks — to the presidency.
As for the candidate we’re supporting, Onésimo, let’s keep telling him to stay calm and that the only thing he needs to worry about (just a bit) is that sinister man from Tabasco. As far as the other local bosses are concerned, if we keep out of their affairs, they’ll go along with what we want — which is to not rock the boat and to leave their businesses intact.
And who are we, my distinguished friend? What do we want? What we want is to be the decisive factor in the presidential succession of 2024. Do a head count, Onésimo. Contrary to what one might believe, Arruza is irrelevant for the reasons I’ve already explained, the best possible outcome of the mission you saw fit to entrust me with.
César León has no immediate chance of re-election. That would mean changing the constitution and God knows how long that could take. Anyway, you and I can make sure things are prolonged indefinitely.
Listen: Congress has three missions. One, to pass laws. Two, to prevent laws from being passed. But the most important mission is to make sure that issues get delayed indefinitely, that nothing ever gets resolved, that the agenda remains full of unfinished business. . If not, my dear friend, what are you and I doing here? What’s the point of this operation if we don’t use our ability to put everything off for as long as we can?
“Be careful,” you said, “you don’t want to end up the founding member of the Ides of March Society.”
How well-educated you turned out to be, Onésimo. No wonder you were agriculture secretary under César León. You and I should found the Greek Calends Society. .