For fifteen minutes during the Super Bowl halftime show, Spanish took center stage in one of the biggest cultural spectacles on the planet. Across Spain, many viewers felt a surge of pride. But for parts of the nationalist and far-right political sphere, the moment also exposed an uncomfortable contradiction: celebrating the global success of the…
Where are the anthems of repression? If reactionary movements claim cultural dominance, mass followings, and moral certainty, one might reasonably expect a soundtrack to match. Where are the rousing MAGA and far-right hymns that people will still be singing in fifty years? Where are the unforgettable choruses celebrating racial division, exclusion, or the romance of…
🎃 Trick, treat… and tradition with a twist 🎃 What if your Halloween bucket of candy held more than sweets—what if it carried a message about identity, culture, and the absurdity of purity? In my latest column for SUR in English (“The Purity Panic: Notes from the Museum of Imaginary Nations”), I peer into the…
They Call It a Pause. We Know It’s a Ban. In my latest rabble.ca column, “The lists we keep, and the ones that keep us”, I unpack why Danielle Steele’s so-called “pause button” isn’t a timeout — it’s a warning sign. What’s being sold as “reflection” is, in truth, a move to ban books, stifle…
The Republic of the Self-Inflicted Wound Canada’s politics has always loved its myths. But now? They’re stitched out of cowboy hats, polyester suits, and old-school Calvinism. That’s the story I dig into in my new CounterPunch article on Cowboy Calvinism. What is “Cowboy Calvinism”? It’s the gospel of grievance dressed in rodeo drag — a…
In a world that often shouts about what sets us apart, there’s something quietly radical about embracing what brings us together. In this week’s Camino a Ítaca a counterdance against the demagogues threatening to deport an imaginary eight million immigrants. From the rhythms of Castile’s town squares and narrow streets to the rare shared silences of…
God help us. The war drums are beating again. Somewhere between the tortilla and the gazpacho, the far-right guardians of Spanishness are having a collective nosebleed — purity tests for everything from ham to human beings. I couldn’t sit idly by and watch the madness. No, I strapped on my battered typewriter and unleashed a…
In my latest piece for Boston Review, I examine how Spain’s far-right party, Vox, is actively working to rehabilitate the legacy of Francisco Franco. By revisiting the brutal events of the 1936 Badajoz massacre, the article explores how historical atrocities are being reframed to serve contemporary political agendas. This manipulation of memory reflects a broader…
Ages rise and rot, and this one smells like cheap cologne, pancake make-up and cold, hard cruelty. The Age of Reason left town long ago, probably hitchhiking with Elvis, and in its place slithers the Age of Mean—petty, ugly, and proud of it. Welcome to the golden era of the selfish, the crass, the smug…
War on Christmas concentration camp It’s the big loooong weekend here in Spain, the equivalent of their Thanksgiving travelwise, and even though the season started a long time ago, it seems like Christmas is in the air. Company parties are out in full force and the streets are filled with holiday shoppers (if you’re looking…