There are things one thought only happened in American conspiracy series or in delusional Twitter threads at three in the morning. But no: they also happen in the Canary Islands, a "tropical Trump" version, with sun, corn, and buses included.
It turns out that a deputy—Yone Caraballo—has the audacity to oversee the Ministry of Health, and suddenly, as if by magic (or premeditated indiscretion), his medical data appears aired in a parliamentary committee. Not by mistake, no: used as political ammunition, with the same naturalness with which others clean their hands with hand sanitizer.
And there they were: Adasat Goya, acting as a spokesperson for the little secret in the hallway, and the Minister of Health, who, far from stopping such nonsense, seemed to enjoy the scene as if she were watching an extra episode of "House of Cards: Canary Islands Edition." How modern. How transparent. How little shame.
What Intersindical Canaria denounces—that illegal disclosure of medical data—is not an administrative technicality: it is a political indecency. Because if today they are allowed to use the health data of a parliamentarian to discredit him, tomorrow they can do the same with any citizen who criticizes health management. And I'm not exaggerating: it's the Canarian version of Trumpism, that very modern method of discrediting the adversary by filtering, defaming, or directly inventing, and then smiling at the cameras as if it were "a joke of fate."
Coalición Canaria—always so given to preaching moderation—should understand that politics is not a festival of confidences, and that medical privacy is not a souvenir that is handed out in parliamentary committees. But of course, when power goes to their heads like mojo in the sun, they lose their sense of the public good.
And the most grotesque thing of all is the attitude of impunity, that air of "so what?", as if divulging medical data were a school prank. No, honey: this is not "a prank." This is crossing all the red lines of institutional decency.
Meanwhile, Yone Caraballo, with the serenity of someone who knows he is right, has been the victim of a capital scoundrel act. But he has also achieved something important: unmasking the style of a ministry more concerned with power than with ethics, more dedicated to partisan defense than to the defense of public health.
And yes, dear Coalición Canaria, you can continue calling it "political debate," but when someone uses confidential medical information as a weapon, they stop doing politics and start making noise. Dirty noise, the kind that can't be filtered out even with a mask.
So, if this were a series, this chapter would be titled: "Confidential Health: The Day Ethics Became Infected with Cynicism." And believe me, I wouldn't even watch it on streaming.
