Argentinian justice, on the other hand, is content to harass two ladies and make a fool of itself, demonstrating that its incompetence is no longer moral, but psychiatric. Or did someone tell Judge Rafecas that the ghost of the general has agreed to testify? If the objective was to harass two ladies for their surname, then the judge has descended to an admirable level of misery, dragging all of Argentinian justice down with him, happily drowning in the depths of imbecility. At least Dr. Freisler, that Nazi judge, had the brutal coherence of ordering the execution of the relatives of the military officers he condemned.
Two days ago, Judge Rafecas decided it was time to star in his own cheap horror sketch and ordered a raid on the home of General Suárez Mason. But Argentinian justice, always so creative, seems convinced that corpses hide secrets under the mattress. There are no military ghosts or basements with hidden evidence in that house; a 97-year-old widow and her 77-year-old daughter live there. Yes, dead, buried, waiting for the promised resurrection. Punishment for surname-carrying in Nazi justice.
The minor detail—barely a footnote—is that the general has been dead for twenty-one years. Two extremely dangerous ladies who, of course, warranted an operation involving ten police officers, a prosecutor—we don't know if he was armed—and two witnesses recruited at random, like extras in a B-movie. No one clarified if the prosecutor was given a helmet or if the witnesses were provided with bulletproof vests, because facing two ladies is, evidently, a matter of life and death.
The result is so pathetic that we can no longer even think of justice as an ogre dedicated to revenge; it's worse, it's a ridiculous institutionalized stupidity, a fauna that still believes the absurd can be disguised as public policy. General Suárez Mason died twenty-one years ago. Are they only just now remembering to raid his house?
(*) SIPpenhaft.
