A politician dies. He travels to the afterlife and asks for directions to heaven. The gatekeepers explain that the rules are simple: spend 24 hours in heaven and 24 hours in hell. After that, a crucial choice must be made about eternity. There is no option to change the selection later. The politician immediately says he would choose heaven, of course.
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No, the gatekeepers reply. The decision should be made after the exam, not before it. Where would you like to begin?
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Darn, mutters the politician.
He steps into hell and finds fellow politicians from his party strolling about in sharp suits. The weather is perfect, the air is fresh, and everyone seems vibrant and youthful. He wanders until he comes upon a golf course whose green carpet glitters. He pauses to play a few holes and grows hungry, asking a fellow player where he might eat in this place called hell.
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Look, near here there’s a restaurant named El Tridente. The food is excellent, the wines superb, and best of all, it’s free.
Gratefully the politician thanks the informant, says goodbye to his playing partners, and heads toward the restaurant. Believing the meal might take longer than his appetite, he flags a taxi that advertises free fare. The driver, a cheerful woman, asks him to take her to El Tridente. They converse warmly, and he asks for the bill when they reach their destination.
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No—please, the driver replies. It’s complimentary regardless of distance.
The restaurant feels luxurious, with a table by the window offering a spectacular view. A note arrives, but the prices disappear from the menu. It is explicitly stated that the meal is free. He orders Russian caviar, Thermidor lobster, lamb chops, and red wine recommended by the waiter as the best in the restaurant and in hell.
Delighted with the day’s progress, the announcements begin: festivities, dances, and games. He asks how to reach the party stages. The waitress says taxis stand at the door for quick rides, and wishes him a good time.
He takes the first taxi and asks the driver to take him to the dance floor. The atmosphere is merry, the crowd lively, and the ambiance celebratory.
He encounters clusters of people wearing glasses, sipping drinks and chatting with ease. He makes his way to the bar and orders a gin and tonic. A group of young women greets him, and one in particular draws his attention as they move to the dance floor.
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The night seems to pass in a blur as sleepiness fades.
Hours drift by. The morning light arrives, breakfast is served at the party, and he feels buoyant. He is surprised to learn that twenty-four hours in hell have already elapsed. He says farewell to his friends and heads toward the exit, recalling that his turn to reach heaven is next. If this is hell, what wonders await in heaven, he wonders.
The gatekeepers will escort him to heaven. He steps through, confronted by fluffy white clouds of varying sizes. Despite a lack of confidence in his own musical skill, he is given a harp and told he can hop from one cloud to another without issue. When he asks whether anyone else will join, the answer is no, and the test proceeds as planned. He is reminded that the 24-hour requirement cannot be bypassed, and the wait feels long and uneventful.
After two rounds of trials, the moment of truth arrives: eternity must be chosen. The gatekeepers warn that there is no turning back. The woman accompanying him asserts that she has no doubts and wishes to spend eternity in hell, having formed strong friendships and a good time there. She signs the decision document, sure of her choice.
They reopen the gates of heaven, and he enters with a palpable sense of fear. The politicians from his party remain there, now dressed in ragged clothes and scavenging for food. The golf course has burned, the air is stifling, the scent of decay is heavy, and the faces are drawn and worn. He asks where to eat and is told everything found in garbage piles. Disappointment and anxiety rise, and he senses an urge to change the decision, though he has been warned repeatedly that eternity cannot be altered. He pendingly proceeds to the offices of hell to lodge a protest:
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I spent twenty-four unforgettable hours here yesterday. Now that I’ve chosen, it feels unbearable. What happened here?
The response comes as a blunt revelation:
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It’s simple, sir. Yesterday we were in the election campaign in hell.
The tale unfolds with a memory from Andalusia, inviting reflection on the nature of political promises. The narrative questions whether election pledges are kept, whether explanations are offered for unfulfilled commitments, and whether apologies are made when promises fail. It probes how pacts are formed and whether cooperation, or its absence, shapes governance.
It then shifts to contemporary political dynamics. It questions the stance of a particular leader and the discomfort of allies who feel excluded from future deals, while exploring the tension between ruling alone and forming coalitions. It raises questions about when abstention or support signals a party’s strategic priorities and how rhetoric translates into policy.
The text draws attention to the tactics seen in campaigns: sign-swapping, dramatic shifts in allegiance, and performances designed to sway voters. It asserts a resolve to pursue policies that are left-leaning, supportive, feminist, and progressive, prioritizing action over empty talk.
In total, twenty-two parties and five coalitions participate in the regional elections. Some groups lack longevity across provinces, while others fragment the left’s unity. The piece hopes that polls will be challenged by actual outcomes, recalling a famous proverb about not trusting polls too much.
Democracy, the narrative contends, rests with an active citizenry. The ballot box stands not as a tomb but as a cradle for democracy. After the votes, citizens must stay engaged to ensure that promises become actions, both in programs and in pacts. When read now, the message is that Andalusian election results will reveal whether promises were mere rhetoric or signs of real change. This act of verification is framed as democratic oversight.
[CITATION: Andalusian electoral satire reflecting on political promises and voter responsibility]