After hours of programming dedicated to Vox, I still do not know what it is. As with any complex phenomenon, applying the magnifying glass on it serves to provoke more doubts and questions. To have certainty, it is better to look from a distance and a bulge. However, leaving aside reporters chasing voters in Marinaleda (violating the secret of suffrage and compromising their safety), seeing Vox on TV has led me to two conclusions: that against Vox there are those who aspire to live better, as against Franco (because having someone much uglier and noisier than you the right makes you more handsome and discreet), and that they will sweep the generals.
This last conclusion should not be taken seriously. In the end, I trust my lack of competence as an electoral augur, and I expose her as the one who, singing her evil, frightens. I thought about it when I saw the Saved Sunday. I had never seen Santiago Abascal's meetings so closely and so closely. He had read his statements and had seen him in pictures, but he knew nothing of his telegenics or rhetorical abilities. And, although they are improvable, they are enough and they have enough for their purposes.
Until the Évole program I was convinced that Vox was a boutade without comparison with the French National Front. Abascal looked like an actor who spoke of Don Pelayo and El Cid Campeador, while Le Pen had based his movement on a speech with more layers. Well, I discard myself. Abascal has that gift that Americans appreciate in the best showmen: he knows his audience. He knows what to tell them, in what tone and at what moment. Surely it has had years to learn it, happening of halls of small acts to medium and great, to finish in audiences.
"Vox is here to stay?" Évole asked a strangely conciliatory and reasonable Carlos Herrera, to whom he shrugged. However, there is no other conclusion to his program: yes, he is here to stay.