domingo, junio 24, 2012

Henry Darger, en otro mundo

Una de las únicas tres imagenes conocidas de Darger
Dice G. Jurek Polansky, en un análisis del trabajo de Darger:
Whether Darger's case belongs to psychology (and his viewers' to sociology) or it has its place with art and aesthetics (fair game for philosophers as well as art lovers) ultimately rests with the work. Upon first viewing, an immediate reflex is one of curiosity, even fascination -- And a sense of puzzlement; puzzlement about the work and one's own response. In the end, one feels the afternoon well spent; but remains uncertain why. 
Henry Joseph Darger, quizá fuera el primer "catcher in the rye"; no como su autor, Salinger, sino como su actor, Holden Caulfield: un guardián oculto durante toda su vida, escribiendo o viviendo en una obsesión, aparentemente para nadie...Sólo a pocos meses de su muerte, y por la ¿casualidad? de que el propietario al que alquilaba fuera de por sí un artista, su obra se salvó de haber terminado en la basura, entre la suma de trastos en que Darger vivía. Nathar Lerner, su casero, descubrió un universo de escritura, pintura, y objetos recolectados de la calle, inimaginables para un hombre que cada día de su vida fue un oscuro conserje de hospital, yendo varias veces por día a misa, sin hablar con nadie, urgando por la calle, moviéndose entre su trabajo y su cuarto,  un año tras  otro, por más de sesenta años, de los cuales, cuarenta y cinco en el mismo hospital y la misma casa. Sobre su mesa y sus estantes, quince mil páginas de "The Story of the Vivian Girls, in what is Known as The Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnean War Storm, caused by the Child Slave Rebellion",una secuela (Crazy House: Further Adventures in Chicago) de diez mil páginas inconclusa, una autobiografía (The History of My Life) de cinco mil páginas (de las cuales, cuatro mil dedicadas a describir un tornado), un diario de treinta mil páginas especialmente dedicado a describir el tiempo jornada tras jornada, y trescientas acuarelas describiendo la épica de su historia, una guerra cruel, sádica, de varios años de duración, afectando a un reino de niñas, en un universo ajeno al nuestro.
Darger, huerfano de madre a los cuatro años y de padre a los trece, con su su hermana no conocida entregada en adopción al nacer, pasó a vivir en una escuela católica como pupilo a los ocho, y en un instituto para discapacitados a la muerte de su padre. Tras duros años, y  varios intentos de fuga, a los diecisiete años huyó a Chicago, comenzando a trabajar en hospitales, como hiciera el resto de su vida. Esto es todo. Al año siguiente comenzó a escribir, hasta su muerte a los ochenta y un años.

The Realms of the Unreal
Nathaniel Rich describe en pocas líneas el contenido de su mayor escrito, si es posible reducir quince mil páginas a una carilla:
Darger's In the Realms of the Unreal tells the story of an apocalyptic war that takes place on a planet "a thousand times as large as our own world, and with our earth as their moon." The war is waged by the good Christian nation of Abbiennia against the barbarous Glandelinia. When the saga begins, Glandelinia has already invaded the peaceful state of Calverinia, massacring its population, conquering its cities, enslaving its children, and forcing it to secede from the union of Christian Kingdoms. Our heroines are the Vivian girls, the seven angelic blond daughters of Abbiennia's emperor, who possess "a beauty that could never be described" (though Darger does exactly that for many pages at a time). Although they generally do not fight in the hundreds of battles waged over the course of the novel, they do take part in other ways. They cheer on their fellow Abbiennians, they lead secret reconnaissance missions into enemy territory, and they are consulted on important matters of military strategy. As such, they are hated by the Glandelinians, who gleefully torture the girls whenever they can. Yet despite the horrors the girls are forced to witness and endure (many of these episodes read like the last 30 days of the Marquis de Sade's 120 Days of Sodom), their courage never falters. To the girls, war is "fun," "an exciting adventure," and "a thrilling time," as in: "[the Vivian girls] have a thrilling time fleeing through a field of gutted bodies of children, with shells bursting all around." The girls are braver than the novel's boys and most of the male soldiers as well. Their masculine nature is reflected in Darger's paintings, in which the girls, who usually appear naked, have male genitalia--a confusion that has led to fevered, if inconclusive, Freudian speculation about the psychological basis of Darger's art.
Pero la génesis de su obra le da una diferente dimensión. Wikipedia resume bien este proceso:
In the Realms of the Unreal is a 15,145 page work bound in fifteen immense, densely-typed volumes (with three of them consisting of several hundred illustrations, scroll-like watercolor paintings on paper derived from magazines and coloring books) created over six decades. The majority of the book, The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is Known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinian War Storm Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion, follows the adventures of the daughters of Robert Vivian, seven princesses of the Christian nation of Abbieannia who assist a daring rebellion against the evil regime of child slavery imposed by John Manley and the Glandelinians. Children take up arms in their own defense and are often slain in battle or viciously tortured by the Glandelinian overlords. The elaborate mythology includes the setting of a large planet, around which Earth orbits as a moon (where most people are Christian and mostly Catholic), and a species called the "Blengigomeneans" (or Blengins for short), gigantic winged beings with curved horns who occasionally take human or part-human form, even disguising themselves as children. They are usually benevolent, but some Blengins are extremely suspicious of all humans, due to Glandelinian atrocities.

Once released from the asylum, Darger repeatedly attempted to adopt a child, but his efforts failed. Images of children often served as his inspiration, particularly a portrait from the Chicago Daily News from May 9, 1911: a five-year-old murder victim, named Elsie Paroubek. The girl had left home on April 8 of that year telling her mother she was going to visit her aunt around the corner from her home. She was last seen listening to an organ grinder with her cousins. Her body was found a month later in a sanitary district channel near the screen guards of the powerhouse at Lockport, Illinois. An autopsy found she had probably been suffocated -- not strangled, as is often stated in articles about Darger. Paroubek's disappearance and murder, her funeral, and the subsequent investigation, were the subjects of a huge amount of coverage in the Daily News and other papers at the time.

This newspaper photo was part of a growing personal archive of clippings Darger had been gathering. There is no indication that the murder or the news photo and article had any particular significance for Darger, until one day he could not find it. Writing in his journal at the time, he began to process this forfeiture of yet another child, lamenting that "the huge disaster and calamity" of his loss "will never be atoned for", but "shall be avenged to the uttermost limit". According to his autobiography, Darger believed the photo was among several items that were stolen when his locker at work was broken into. He never found his copy of the photograph again. Because he couldn't remember the exact date of its publication, he couldn't locate it in the newspaper archive. He carried out an elaborate series of novenas and other prayers for the picture to be returned.
Elsie Paroubek, whose photograph inspired Darger to begin writing In the Realms of the Unreal

The fictive war that was sparked by Darger's loss of the newspaper photograph of the murdered girl, whose killer was never found, became Darger's magnum opus. He had been working on some version of the novel before this time (he makes reference to an early draft which was also lost or stolen), but now it became an all-consuming creation.

In The Realms of the Unreal, the "assassination of the child labor rebel Annie Aronburg... was the most shocking child murder ever caused by the Glandelinian Government" and was the cause of the war. Through their sufferings, valiant deeds and exemplary holiness, the Vivian Girls are hoped to be able to help bring about a triumph of Christianity. Darger provided two endings to the story, one in which the Vivian Girls and Christianity are triumphant and another in which they are defeated and the godless Glandelinians reign.

Darger's human figures were rendered largely by tracing, collage, or photo enlargement from popular magazines and children's books (much of the "trash" he collected was old magazines and newspapers, which he clipped for source material). Some of his favorite figures were the Coppertone Girl and Little Annie Rooney. He is praised for his natural gift for composition and the brilliant use of color in his watercolors. The images of daring escapes, mighty battles, and painful torture are reminiscent not only of epic films such as Birth of a Nation (which Darger might easily have seen) but of events in Catholic history; the text makes it clear that the child victims are heroic martyrs like the early saints. One idiosyncratic feature of Darger's artwork is an apparent transgenderism: Characters are often portrayed unclothed or partially clothed and, regardless of ostensible gender, some females have penises.

In a paraphrase of the Declaration of Independence, Darger wrote of children's right "to play, to be happy, and to dream, the right to normal sleep of the night's season, the right to an education, that we may have an equality of opportunity for developing all that are in us of mind and heart

La sala de Darger. En The Jargon Society
The Jargon Society publicó en 1999, sin firma (Jonathan Williams?), un pequeño artículo que describe muy bien el inquietante universo de Darger:
HENRY JOSEPH DARGER (12 April 1892-13 April 1973):

"What's all this nonsense about more Darger research? Surely we know enough about him. Isn't it about time someone talked about the greatness of the paintings, which in my neck of the woods is considered as great as Hartley's & Ryder's." Those words from Trevor Winkfield, that acute Yorkshire artist who gave up Leeds for Manhattan awhile back, make me willing to parade my ignorance. Who isn't ignorant when it comes to this obsessive, agonized man?
Henry Darger is what they are calling in New York this season a "self-taught" artist. This is a dreary word. Can one imagine any artist who is not self-taught, by definition? "Naive" and "visionary" also have their problems as tags. "Outsider" gets the job done better than most. The critic Peter Schjeldahl has a good definition of Outsider Art: "Art from cultures that consist of one person each." Arthur C. Danto writes clearly about art in The Nation magazine and says: "If we were Germans we could frame a nice Heideggerian compound such as Ausderkunstweltkunstleren—"artists-not-of-the-art-world"—which I do not especially recommend for any forthcoming dictionary of art." Labels won't help us much with Henry Darger, or such rare birds as Augustus Vincent Tack, the Californian who calls himself Jess, Forrest Bess, Ivan Albright, or Joseph Cornell.
Henry Darger seems to have come out of nowhere. Does the Hale-Bopp comet put on camouflage and land one American autochthon after another in the middle of the Deadly Desert? Darger isn't the first, but maybe he is the strangest. How to account for Bill Traylor? In 1939, he comes hobbling into Montgomery, Alabama, off the old plantation and, at the age of 85, starts putting pencil marks on shirt cardboard with all the breathtaking authority of those white folks who lived in caves in the Valley of the Dordogne and the Cantabrian Mountains some 25,000 years ago. How to account for J.B. Murry, another illiterate, dirt-poor black man, a tenant farmer who lived all his days in a primitive shack in Glascock County, Georgia, out in the country near Sparta? How could he possibly have made 1500 drawings of such extraordinary sophistication and filled them with "spirit script" only to be read by people with godly hearts?
Now, Henry Darger. A wrecked and broken-hearted man, who wrote a huge narrative saga for nobody but himself to read; and then illustrated it with 300 scroll-like, narrative watercolours for nobody but himself to see. He was born in Chicago in 1892. His father was "a tailor and a kind and easygoing man." His mother died before he was four, in childbirth. He never saw his little sister, who was given up for adoption.
When he was eight his father became crippled and had to go off to live in a Catholic mission, the Little Sisters of the Poor's Home for the Elderly (where Henry would, eventually, also die). Henry entered a Catholic boys' home. In 1905, his father died. And Henry was institutionalized in a place named the Lincoln Developmental Center for Feebleminded Children, in Lincoln, Illinois, apparently because a doctor had written: "Little Henry's heart is not in the right place."
He managed to escape the asylum in 1909 after a series of attempts. He went back to Chicago and sought menial employment in a series of Catholic hospitals, which he continued to do until 1963, when illness forced him to retire. In 1930, he had moved into a single large room on the Near North Side at 851 Webster Street. This was in an old boarding house that the photographer and product designer Nathan Lerner later bought to save from demolition. And so it was that Nathan Lerner was Henry Darger's landlord for 20 some years before his death in 1973.
I have heard of Nathan Lerner as far back as 1951, when I put in a semester at the Institute of Design in Chicago. He had been the school's education director until 1949, an appointment made by Walter Gropius. Lerner had studied with Gyorgy Kepes and with Laszlo Moholy-Nagy and was widely admired by the photographers I knew at the ID: Harry Callahan, Aaron Siskind, Art Sinsabaugh, and Art Siegel. Lerner is a very interesting figure in his own right, not just because he opened the door upon the secret world of Henry Darger. Let me quote from his "A Personal Recollection":
 "I saw Henry Darger every day for about twenty years. A shuffling old man, a recluse who never had visitors except for a rare visit from a priest.
"He lived in a single, large room that he had rented since 1930. The room was filled from floor to ceiling with debris of his scavenging. He would take long walks in order to gather his amazing collections, and at great distances from home he could be seen poking through garbage with his cane, looking for his treasures. Crucifixes, broken toys, old magazines, scores of used eyeglasses repaired with tape, dozens of empty bottles of Pepto Bismol, hundreds of balls of twine that he made by taping small pieces together; the list was endless...
"It was very hard to believe that Henry was alone in his room. He was a remarkable mimic and sometimes there would be an animated quarrel going on between a deep gruff voice, which was supposed to be he, and a querulous high-pitched voice, which was supposed to be his superior, a nun, at the hospital where he worked as a menial. At other times he would sing strange songs, perhaps in Portuguese, inasmuch as be claimed to be Brazilian.
"For many years after an accident at the hospital, Henry had suffered with a lame knee, and when he finally became too feeble to climb the stairs he asked me to find a place for him to live in a Catholic old-people's home. Often, I would visit him amidst the alien, clean, polished tile, the television sets, and the talking people. Henry would sit in a corner alone, motionless, his head on his chest, a shrunken figure completely remote and apparently frightened. He would barely glance at me and after a few visits I don't know if he even recognized me. Seemingly, he left his life behind in his room, for he died within a few months.
"It is a humbling experience now to have to admit that not until I looked under all the debris in his room did I become aware of the incredible world that Henry had created from within himself...."

What Nathan Lerner found were 15 volumes of a vast narrative work that Henry Darger began writing back in late adolescence. It consisted of 15,145 legal-sized pages, single-spaced on the typewriter. Its title was The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is Known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnean War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion. That a barely educated, isolated boy could undertake this task is only the first mystery we have to confront in this bizarre tale. Dr. John M. MacGregor, whose The Discovery of the Art of the Insane (Princeton University Press, 1989) is a primary text, is now at work on a book-length monograph on Henry Darger. In an earlier essay, "In the Realms of the Unreal," he provides us with a clear encapsulation of the story: "The writing of The Realms, which began only two years after his escape from "the asylum," seems to represent the elaboration of continuing fantasies whose origin can be located in adolescence. Darger remained an emotional adolescent for the rest of his life. He managed, however, to function in low-level hospital jobs until his retirement at the age of seventy-one. Profoundly involved with religion, his only social activity consisted of compulsive churchgoing. He lived in rented rooms, ate in a nearby restaurant, worked, and attended Mass. Yet, in terms of meaningful human contact, he was completely isolated. In his entire life he appears to have had only one friend, William Schloder, who eventually moved away from Chicago. This permanent situation of almost complete emotional, intellectual, and creative starvation offered him not the slightest possibility of growth or development."
Darger wrote: "The scenes of the story, as its title indicates, lie among the nations of an unknown, or imaginary, world, or countries, with our earth as their moon, on an imaginary planet, a thousand times as large as our own world." And he said: "This description of the great war, and its following results, is perhaps the greatest ever written by an author, on the line of any fabulous war, that could ever be entitled, with such a name. The war lasted about four years and seven months, in this story, and the author of this book has taken over 11 years in writing out the graphic details, and has fought from day to day in order to win for the Christian side this long and bloody war." Apparently, John MacGregor has evidence that Darger as a boy read all he could find about the American Civil War. In The Realms, the battle is over the enslavement of children. One of the warring nations is Glandelinia whose violent attacks on children are monstrous and unendingly gory. It is opposed by the good nation of Abbiennia and the heroines leading the rebellion are seven Abbiennian princesses called the Vivian Girls (shades of the Dolly Sisters). Here is an example of what happens to multitudes of unfortunates for thousands of pages:
"The priests themselves were cut, hacked, and torn to pieces, and the children were frightfully massacred, about the prison yards, until their life-blood covered the streets. Everywhere there was a howling tumult. The poor children being intermingled in a howling sea of grey coats... Many of these poor little ones sank with dying cries, and soon there were formed a pile of corpses, and the streets began to run red. Fancy the yells of these wicked Glandelinians, their faces covered with sweat and blood, the fiercer shrieks of more women and children crying, 'Mercy, oh please have mercy,' but there was no mercy." There are floods and fires and natural catastrophes, page after page after page. Darger was almost a mute. If prompted by a neighbor in the street to speak, he would only say a few words about the weather. He kept notebooks filled with weather reports. It is known that in 1913 he witnessed the Easter Sunday tornado that completely destroyed the town of Countybrown, Illinois.
The style is curious and skewed. We can guess at a few sources: the Bible, Civil War battle reports, adventure thrillers for boys (Don Sturdy in the Tombs of Gold, that sort of thing) A character called Penrod suggests the prose of Booth Tarkington. One predicts that no one will ever read all the 15,145 pages leading to the final triumph of Good over Evil, except possibly Henry Darger's biographer, John MacGregor. It asks too much, like being made to listen to no music ever except Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen, or being forced to sleep in the same bed with Senator Jesse Helms for fifty years. But, again, let us remember: The Realms was not created for you or me to read. It belonged only to Henry Darger.
What are clearly much more accessible to us are the 300 or so watercolors that Darger started doing in his room at 851 Webster Street in the 1930s to illustrate the text. The typing of The Realms had been completed at an earlier date. No one ever heard typing from his room. The paintings were small at first, made on standard-sized watercolor pads. Later he worked on newsprint and fastened the sheets together, creating mural-like narratives that could be read like scrolls, often two feet high by eight or ten feet wide. So, the self-taught outsider-writer, now becomes the self-taught outsider-artist. An artist, who drew the human figure so badly that he had to trace everything or add collage, embarks on a huge series of large watercolors absolutely crammed with figures!

There is conjecture that Henry Darger never went to an art museum, that everything he used to make art came from popular street culture, from the comic books, coloring books, game boards, newspapers, children's books, and magazines he brought back to his room. Somebody thinks they see a little Gauguin in his work. Where would he see Gauguin? In Life magazine? Did he ever go to the movies? It was a dime back in those days. If memory serves, Anthony Quinn played Gauguin in Lust for Life, but that's not early enough. Was it George Saunders in The Moon & Sixpence? It's difficult to get any handles. Kate Greenaway is somehow involved, and that he would have found in books. Her delicate, high, pastel palette would be important to Henry Darger. (Kate Greenaway started several artists on their way. She was Aubrey Beardsley's first love. Then he went on to Burne-Jones, Mantegna, and Whistler—and came out very much Aubrey Beardsley. I love what Miss Greenaway said to John Ruskin in 1896: "A great many people are now what they call modern.")
We don't even know if Henry Darger ever drank a beer or liked a drink. Even Catholics who go to Mass five times a day, as he sometimes did, have been known to indulge, faith and begorra! Living on the Near North Side, it's hard to think of even a recluse not going to Wrigley Field for an afternoon of sunshine in the bleachers. Did Hammerin' Hank Darger ever see Hammerin' Hank Aaron play long ball over the ivy walls? And if he went to Wrigley Field, he might have meandered into the cemetery nearby and stood in front of the tomb of Louis Sullivan. Wandering around and scavenging in Chicago's Loop, Darger would have often been at the intersection of State and Madison Streets and surely seen the wondrous metal ornamentation of the entrance pavilion to Carson Pirie Scott Department Store—Sullivan at his most masterful. Can we say that he never went up the steps to the Art Institute of Chicago? Street people often frequent museums and libraries and public buildings, if for no better reason than to get warm. I like to imagine Henry Darger standing in front of George Seurat's "A Sunday Afternoon on the Grande Jatte." Many lessons about how to arrange horizontal compositions are there for the taking. There's Gauguin in the Art Institute too. And someone else who might have caught his eye was Charles Demuth, whose color is so sonorous and strange. And, to go just an obvious step farther along in this goose chase, there is a superb collection of Chinese and Japanese screens and wall paintings at the Art Institute. Rider of the Hale-Bopp comet, reader of the funny papers and collector of paper dolls, it may just be that Henry Darger knew much more than we think. He arranges armies of figures with unerring skill. He orchestrates with color as shimmering at times as Ravel in Daphnis & Chloe. Darger as Tar Baby—he don't say nuthin'.
It is a wild phantasmagoria: the ever-energetic Vivian Girls, the strangled and eviscerated, the menacing storm clouds with human faces, Shirley Temple, Little Annie Roonie, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Tweety-Bird, and the amazing creatures called Blengiglomenean Serpents (Blengins for short). Darger writes: "Human Headed Roverines, called Rabona, which are the prettiest; Taporeans, which are the longest, some exceeding 8000 feet (very violent); Fairy Winged and Angel Winged Gazonians, both of which have butterfly wings; and the horribly ugly Dog and Cat Headed Crimacean Gazooks." There one of these friendly dragons said to be 45,000 feet long and to weigh 60,000 pounds. Darger concludes: "As far back as 1188, the creatures have shown a greater fondness towards children of all nations, as to exceed the love of any mother. As they have somehow knew of the existence of God, they feel sure that any man, no matter what nation he is in, who ill treats a little child, for whatever reason, is not only an enemy of children, but also an enemy of God. No man is safe in their presence who hurts a child." I sense a bit of the Land of Oz in all this exotic naming of beasts. And maybe the Blengins are Henry's personal guardian angels?
There is much conjecture over the battle scenes in which hordes of pre-pubescent girls are drawn with tiny male genitals and occasionally with rams' horns. Henry never saw the baby sister. John MacGregor remarks: "We must at least contemplate the possibility that he did not know of the physical difference." Whatever, it's "Chicks With Dicks," just what they like today in post-gender New York!
And much conjecture over the brutal sadism, crucifixions, burnings at the stake, beheadings, disembowelments of children in the paintings. John MacGregor tries to cope with this: "... One senses within Darger a potential for mass murder. It was, however, a potential defended against by his intense devotion, his absolute conviction of the existence and power of God. This conflict is at the heart of Darger's experience and of his writings, with the outcome invariably hanging in the balance. This is an alternate world powered by an overwhelming force... restrained." Dr. MacGregor has said more recently: "Psychologically, Darger was undoubtedly a serial killer. I don't think he acted, however, because if he'd ever started, he wouldn't have been able to stop. Instead he sublimated it into his art." John Wayne Gacey, another Catholic boy from further north in Chicago, did a little painting. And a little something else. Praise Henry Joseph Darger just for the wonders he did. R.I.P.
Algunos escritos (todavía -Internet es fugaz) disponibles sobre Darger:
Una síntesis del trabajo de John M. MacGregor, Henry Darger In The Realms of The Unreal, destacando la inestabilidad emocional de Darger: MacGregor ha llegado a pensar en Darger como un asesino serial.
Comentarios de la película que Jessica Yu realizara en 2005 sobre Darger.
Nathaniel Rich, sobre Darger.
Darger en Wikipedia.
El trabajo comentado al inicio de G. Jurek Polanski.
Darger en la Carl Hammer Gallery de Chicago.
El trabajo reproducido de The Jargon.
Artsy dedica una página a la obra pictórica de Darger.

domingo, junio 17, 2012

Reflotando un barco hundido

Ante una realidad más cercana a una obra de terror que a una comedia napolitana, dos comentarios irónicos y amargos recuerdan la pericia y enjundia del gobierno Popular para afrontar la crisis española. Anxo Sánchez nos destaca que la ministra de Empleo se encomienda a la Virgen del Rocío para salir de la crisis, al par que la secretaria de estado de investigación, desarrollo e innovación, Carmen Vela, considera que con menos científicos estamos mejor; y Carlos Fonseca, por otra parte, entrega un "diccionario del PP para salir de la crisis", coleccionando una serie de clichés destinados a enmascarar la realidad:
Cuando en 2007 empezó la actual crisis económica el entonces presidente del Gobierno, José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero, se obcecó en que en nuestro país no había crisis, que como mucho estábamos ante una “desaceleración”, a la que le fue añadiendo adjetivos como “gradual”, “transitoria”, para terminar hablando de una desaceleración acelerada que nos dejó a todos con la boca abierta.
Pasan los años y los gobiernos, pero las mentiras permanecen. Adoptan la forma de frases hechas, metáforas, paráfrasis… todo vale con tal de no explicar a los ciudadanos lo que pasa con palabras que puedan entender. Aquí les dejo la traducción de algunas de los palabras y expresiones que el presidente Mariano Rajoy y su Gobierno han puesto en circulación para engañarnos. Parafraseándole, vamos a llamar “al pan, pan, y al vino, vino”.
Y siguen una serie de frases repetidas por funcionarios en declaraciones de prensa y salidas ante la televisión de estos últimos días. Un esfuerzo inútil de disimulo, que pareciera considerar a la sociedad como si estuviera integrada por infantes. Una pérdida de tiempo mientras los hechos siguen apretando y exigiendo respuestas dadas con la frente alta, como corresponde a los sacrificios que se avecinan. Quizá sea mucho pedir a quienes no quieren ni hablar de exigir y afrontar responsabilidades, mirando ante sí décadas de derroche y desgobierno.

martes, junio 05, 2012

Rescate cuestionado

Mientras día tras día nos enteramos que Bankia necesita mas dinero para cubrir sus quebrantos, el presidente de la Asociación Española de Banca, Miguel Martín, dice lo que ningún político español quiere decir y aceptar: que una parte de la banca está hundida, y que ayudarla no es la solución. Comentado por Carlos Sánchez en El Confidencial:
El rescate europeo de los bancos españoles con problemas es todavía una idea, pero poco a poco, contra la aparente voluntad de Alemania, se abre paso bajo la presión de Bruselas, París y, por supuesto, España. Pero cuenta, sin embargo, con un adversario inesperado.
La banca española considerada ‘sana’ teme que el rescate de entidades inviables, las que suelen denominarse ‘zombies’, acabe por alterar la libre competencia en el sector al tratarse de ayudas de Estado incompatibles con la Unión Europea.
Todavía no hay ninguna posición oficial, pero el presidente de la patronal bancaria, Miguel Martín, no se ha cansado de repetir que el Gobierno debe dejar caer a las entidades insolventes. En línea con la hoja de ruta que aprobó hace poco más de un año la propia Comisión Europea, que advertía de que “no hay motivo para que esos costes [los de la crisis bancaria] recaigan sobre los contribuyentes”.
En un documento firmado por el comisario de Mercado Interior, Michel Barnier, incluso se aceptaba la idea de la creación de un fondo de resolución bancaria para hacer frente a la quiebra de una entidad de tamaño mediano -no es el caso de Bankia-, pero dejando claro que “todo banco, por grande que sea, pueda quebrar”.
Ahora la Unión Europea discute que el Mecanismo Europeo de Estabilidad (MEDE) -que entrará en vigor el próximo 1 de julio- inyecte dinero directamente a la banca sin pasar por los Estados, pero como señaló recientemente Miguel Martín en un artículo publicado en el diario Expansión, “es necesario distinguir entre entidades que pueden afrontar la crisis y las que no son viables”.
Con conocimiento del sector, un argumento más en favor de respetar las leyes del mercado. Aquellas que los propios bancos amenazados no dudan en aplicar a miles de familias con mora hipotecaria, cayéndoles con todo el peso de la ley. ¿Por qué debe haber un trato distinto a empresas que aún hoy esconden el valor real de sus pérdidas, producto de pésimas políticas de negocios, y culpables de la espiral de crecimiento de la propiedad en España? ¿Por qué no llevar a los tribunales sus irregulares manejos contables y comerciales?
Parecería ser que la línea de solución vía rescate no será de todas formas muy posible de aplicar: El volúmen de deuda de algunas cajas parece estar más allá de las voluntades políticas. Veremos.
La foto, en El Confidencial.