Itxu Díaz: Tears from a Dictator
When I saw the tears from Kim Jong Un last weekend, my first thought was that someone had finally poked him in the eye. Later I considered the possibility that a treacherous piece of enemy grit from the revolution may have gotten stuck in it.
At last I understood that it was merely the revolution itself that had entered the depths of his cornea. Everything in North Korea is a circus, a theater and a sham. Everything except misery, pain and death.
There is a long list of communist dictators as fierce as they are whiners. Hugo Chávez was quite a crybaby, although in public he only teared up toward the end of his days, when he was already very ill with cancer; he was always ill with hate.
Fidel Castro spent the last 300 years of his life crying over almost anything, or at least that was what was claimed by the revolutionary media, which tried to change the image of the Cuban butcher to an endearing and defenseless grandfather, unable to hold back tears but overly capable of stirring up Cubans with speeches up to seven hours long. Sometimes the poor Cubans no longer cared whether they were imprisoned or starved to death, as long as he shut his dang mouth for a while.
One of the most whiny leaders in history is Nicolás Maduro, perhaps because it’s the only way that his clumsy advisers have found to make his heart not look like a piece of pine pith — a piece of pine pith previously charred by the flames of Hell, specifically.
Maduro’s trademark is his ability to cry over silly things, like each anniversary of Chávez’s death, but you can’t expect anything else from a guy who says that the late Venezuelan dictator often appears at his home in the form of a bird to give him advice.
It’s to the point where the opposing side no longer knows whether to continue fighting in the streets or to give him a good cat.
In theory, the tears would serve to show a more human side of the communist leaders, in the supposed case that the revolutionary dictators had that face hidden somewhere (even though that weak and sanctimonious attitude to which long-lived totalitarians aspire when they believe that they have already been crushing their people for too many years contrasts with the manly spirit of their revolutions).
A poster from Soviet Russia read a century ago: “Shame on the whiners, the slackers and the faithless.” That’s all you need to know about communism’s empathy with those who suffer.
The context chosen by Kim for his pouting this weekend was the 75th anniversary of the rise to power of the North Korean Workers’ Party (But note that “coming to power” is a euphemism used by the Western media to avoid having to explain that the miseries and violence suffered by North Koreans since the last century were imposed by the Russian communists, including the first leader of the Korean Politburo, a Soviet agent infiltrator named Kim Yong-bom — though it is difficult to know if that is the real name of a communist leader or the noise that a ball makes when it falls on a tin roof.)
Kim claims that he is sad about the pandemic, because people had “placed trust” in him, as if Koreans had another choice, or as if someone had ever invited them to choose for themselves.
I suppose communist rhetoric always ends up being like the speech of a madman who has been off his medication for the last 100 years and thinks he is a nuclear aircraft carrier.
The only world leader who cuts his hair with a Black & Decker also says that his “efforts and sincerity” have not been enough to free people from the “difficulties of life.” If Kim would allow me to give him some advice, I think a good way to free Koreans from life’s difficulties would be to stop killing them.
But I don’t want to judge matters with Western eyes, which is what analysts of the left-wing media say when someone asks them to take a position on Venezuela, Cuba or any other part of the world suffocated and impoverished by that master formula of misery that enables socialism and communism.
However, while Kim Jong Un whined during prime time, he took the opportunity to present a new intercontinental missile described as “monstrous,” and I imagine that the best way to console the North Koreans decimated by the coronavirus is to threaten a nuclear war and pray that you don’t find Trump in the White House when the affair begins.
Personally, I don’t like anyone’s tears. But if I am given a choice between seeing his people cry and seeing a communist dictator cry, I certainly celebrate his plaintive and bratty outburst.
God willing those crocodile tears are, after all, some hope for freedom.
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