They promised to leave Spain if left won: they’re still here

They promised to leave Spain and are still here

There is a recurring scene every time the PSOE takes power: the voter who loudly announces they are packing their bags, heading to Poland, Australia, or any paradise without coupons or unemployment lines, only to be found in the same bar with the same coffee the next morning. The latest wave of political emigration promises began with a message that set the tone: "the best always leave," it said, half jokingly, half seriously. From there, people did what they always do: wait to see who keeps their word.

The result, according to participants, is exactly as expected. No one has left. Or almost no one. And those who did, if they did, haven't returned to tell the tale.

Who leaves Spain when the left wins

The portrait of the supposed economic exile drawn by the conversation bears little resemblance to an epic narrative. According to the messages themselves, these are either "starving people without languages or training" or "millionaire sons of fathers," two categories sharing a common problem: neither have work visas nor real reasons to give up public healthcare and paid housing. The most repeated jab targets the wallet: "you don't even have money for a plane ticket," someone says, and that ends the Australian dream.

The profile that actually emigrates, according to another message, is the opposite of those who promise to do so: "every year more than 20,000 disgusting high-income VOX and PP supporters abandon Spain," claims a participant, who then lists the alleged advantages of the destination: homes 2.5 times larger than the Spanish average and a minimum wage of €2,200. The figure of 20,000 lacks a source, so take it for what it is: a bar-stool estimate dressed up as statistics.

"I'm moving to Poland" as a literary genre

The promise to emigrate is not new. A participant recalls someone who, after a left-wing electoral victory, publicly asked if there was any right-wing anti-immigration country to move to. The answer received was classic: if they don't want immigrants, they won't want you. This episode, which the author claims to have screenshotted, summarizes the genre: people confusing rejection of others with a personal invitation.

The conversation quickly shifts to the underlying diagnosis. Some argue that the promise to leave is an imported franchise, a local copy of a discourse that has worked for years in other countries: "cuckold talk, I'm moving to Poland, independence movements, Soros, fantasies, this country is finished, cheap conspiracies," lists one message. The response trinc immediately: the imitators are the others. The exchange of plagiarism accusations spans several parts and remains unresolved.

Those who stay and struggle

Opposite the one promising to leave appears the one who accepts they cannot. "I am tied down rowing here until my retirement," writes a participant, describing the scenario he believes awaits him: a country with "exponentially increasing Jovenlandés" (a derogatory term) and an electoral system he considers manipulated. The manipulation theory—"they keep counting votes at INDRA"—is launched without proof and coexists with the observation that when Senate votes weren't manipulated, the result was a broad majority for the right. The conclusion of the message itself is that the system works exactly the opposite of what is denounced.

Other messages lower the epic tone and raise the practical one. The idea that people emigrate because of how other provinces vote appears in several interventions, opening the only interesting sustancia ilegal in the issue: the tension between individual vote and collective result. If your province votes one way and the country another, do you leave or endure? The majority response in the conversation is that you endure, and that those who leave are usually not the loudest complainers, but those with something to gain elsewhere.

The scoreboard of those who left and didn't return

The list of casualties is short and symbolic. A participant recalls a former interlocutor who became a VOX militant convinced he would win "gold and glory," only to disappear from the map when results didn't match expectations. The message, including a personal jab at a party leader, serves as an epitaph: the one who left didn't go to Australia, he went nowhere.

The balance of years of migration promises is visible: zero suitcases, several nickname changes, and an indeterminate number of messages celebrating the rival's victory. The conversation, which started with "say goodbye and leave slowly but steadily," ends with "and the bastard is still here 2 years after the last message." The prophecy came true in reverse.

How many of those who promised to leave are still here? The question has no answer, but the silence of those who left—and the persistence of those who stayed—says a lot.