They are people of power. Not philosophers or philologists: they are politicians. They tend to have a limited command of the language like a dart bearer of beauty, but great efficiency in using it as a political tool. They may be unable to write a hendecasyllable, but they can make millions of citizens accept the definition they devised — strictly for their own convenience — of a word or concept.
So, for example, with democracy. The impulse to redefine this concept according to the needs of each circumstance is directly proportional to the inconsistency of its use. To simplify: every time a politician talks about democracy, contradictions grow and one understands less what he is referring to by that term.
Some pretend to understand it, because they aspire to saturate the word “democracy” with an ethical content, not worrying that this implies emptying it of technical-political content. That is, they consider that democracy equals good; everything that sounds good fits within a democracy. It can be a method (like elections), it can be a value (like equality), it can be a system (like the division of powers), it can be a symbol (like the republic).
Something similar happens with sovereignty. At some point in history, it meant something. It meant one thing: something unique, clear and very concrete. However, anyone who reads writings on sovereignty published in the 21st century and soon approaches Jean Bodin, the father of the modern concept in the 16th century, will suffer a kind of thermal collapse.
In general terms, we can say that sovereignty is no longer a description of a simple circumstance, that is, that one actor has more power than another; to represent with stupefied abstraction the aspirations for dignity of any group that perceives itself as oppressed.
Not casually, the concepts that stretch like chewing gum in the political mouth are the ones that end up referring to the power of the people. That is, the ones that serve to flatter you. Democracy: the power of the people to decide. Sovereignty: the dignity of the people against powers that intend to oppress them. The examples could go on until embarrassing.
From this general idea, one can approach a wide variety of political events reported daily by the media around the world. In this case, let’s look at what happened in Nicaragua and Honduras, just a few weeks apart.
First act: Nicaragua, October 25, 2021. Daniel Ortega names his wife and vice president, Rosario Murillo, as co-chair. In other words, he elevates her to the presidential post. However, this is a merely discursive operation: the position of co-president does not exist and cannot be created without reforming the Constitution. Besides, Murillo doesn’t even receive the attributions of president. Let us now use the word sovereignty in all its power: between Ortega and Murillo, the relationship of sovereignty, the balance of power, necessarily leans in favor of the president. Co-presidency is the dazzling glow of a naked queen.
Second act: Honduras, November 28, 2021. Presidential elections are won by a coalition: president of one party, first presidential nominee (equivalent to vice president) of another. No one talks about co-chairs or questions formal hierarchies: first, the president; below, the vices.
However, Salvador Nasralla, the presidential nominee of the winning electoral formula, did not take long to mark territory: “We will make decisions together with [a presidente] Xiomara, we will be in power because we will not be designated as in the traditional parties. (…) We will not be decorative figures, we will agree with the decisions and participate in the decisions that the government will take as of January 27th”, assured the vice-president to “El Heraldo”.
Since we are situated behind the scenes, let’s turn to the great English master of the genre. “What’s in a name?”, Shakespeare asked himself making Juliet’s voice tremble. What’s in a name? And he continued: “That which we call rose, perfumery with another designation” (in translation by Matías de Velasco y Rojas, Marquis de Dos Hermanas). In other words: names don’t matter; what matters are the realities they represent. Romeo would still be Romeo if he didn’t have Montechio as a surname.
Does this idea work if we take it from the stage to the prosaic political scene? Remember: politicians use words like bombs that fall wildly and vertically, causing a huge bang; not like darts that slide gracefully, silently, horizontally through the air. The “What’s in a name?” in line with Capulet’s delicacy turns the political arena into a “does it make a difference if we understand each other!”
“It does,” replied Lázaro Carreter wisely. He did not write it with political institutions in mind, but it is as applicable to them as to any other sphere of our societies. For the same reason that it is dangerous to confuse simple democracy with liberal democracy, and the latter with the rule of law, it is risky to confuse vice presidency with co-presidency, and the latter with presidential designation. And what is the reason? Such confusions are neither random nor innocent. They are rude and vertical bombs, but also effective and loud.
The only thing that protects us from abuses of power is institutions. If the meanings of institutions and their contours are altered, if the words that mark their boundaries are belittled, it is a mere matter of time before abuses of power occur.
Salvador Nasralla’s statements quoted above are a formidable example. Let us reiterate them: “We will make decisions together with [a presidente] Xiomara, we will be in power because we will not be designated as in the traditional parties. (…) We will not be decorative figures, we will agree with the decisions and participate in the decisions that the government will take from January 27th onwards”.
Did Nasralla pay any attention to Article 235 of the Honduran Constitution? “The ownership of the Executive Power is exercised in representation and for the benefit of the people by the President and, in his absence, by those designated to the Presidency of the Republic”. Only in the absence of the President. As long as there is a President, Designates do not exercise Executive Power.
Does that make a difference? Nasralla will wonder. It’s the same question Daniel Ortega must have asked himself when he named Rosario Murillo as co-chair. Honduras and Nicaragua are in the lowest positions of all democratic quality indices. In other words: it does. And how does it.
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