Alejandro Galdames

Prep. físico/Tec. Logístico🙏/ Donante 👊/ Futbolista/ @RH_Negativos/ Santiago y 👼 son mi Todo, Hincha de la gloriosa Universidad de Chile.
⃝⃒⃤

[Carolina la Titi @caro1263]

Como soy buena para buscar...la verdad no hay que buscar tanto...me encontré con otra aberración...de este horrible gobierno...con este este horrible presidente...

[Peter Girnus 🦅 @gothburz]

I am a member of the Norwegian Nobel Committee.

There are five of us. Five people, appointed by a parliament most of the planet could not find on a map, who decide, once a year, which human being the world has agreed to call good.

I know. I know. I think about it on the tram.

We meet in a building on Henrik Ibsens gate, a street named after a man who wrote almost exclusively about people discovering they are frauds, which nobody on the committee finds funny except me. There is a room with a long table and the portraits of the dead laureates looking down, Mandela, the Dalai Lama, a great many earnest men in spectacles, and one portrait we do not discuss, which is Kissinger, 1973, awarded while the bombs were still falling, after which two of our predecessors resigned and the satirist Tom Lehrer said political satire was now obsolete. We keep him on the wall. A reminder. Every family has the uncle.

It is October in Oslo, which means the sun gives up around four in the afternoon like a civil servant, and it rains the particular Norwegian rain that isn’t quite falling, just hanging there, judging you. I arrive with wet shoes. I always arrive with wet shoes. There is coffee, because this is Norway and there is always coffee, we drink more of it per person than almost anyone alive, and someone’s wife has sent kanelboller, the cinnamon buns, and we sit, five Norwegians, damp, caffeinated, sugared, and we decide the moral standing of the entire species.

Let me tell you how it actually works, because the world imagines a cathedral and it is, I promise you, a book club with a mandate.

287 nominations this year. 208 people, 79 organizations. Anyone can nominate, that’s the secret nobody understands: a professor, a parliamentarian, a former laureate, so the “nominee” list is meaningless, it’s a suggestion box, and every autumn some congressman nominates his own golden retriever and the press writes “SHORTLISTED.” Nobody is shortlisted. There is no short list the public ever sees. There is us, and the coffee, and the rain, and the portraits, and a Norwegian stubbornness that is older than the prize itself.

We read reports. The institute’s advisers write them, thick dull documents, and we argue. Our chairman told the BBC once that in the final meeting “there is a high temperature.” High temperature, for a Norwegian, means someone slightly raised an eyebrow and then apologized for it. We don’t do high temperature. We do a long silence, and then Kristin says “well,” and everyone knows exactly what “well” meant, and it’s settled. That’s our shouting. “Well.” You’d have to be raised here to hear the violence in it.

Now. This year. I will not say the name, because we never say the name, but you know the name.

A certain head of state wanted this prize the way a child wants a thing in a shop window, which is to say loudly, and in public, and with the full belief that wanting it was itself the argument. He said he deserved it. He said he’d ended eight wars, a number that grew most times he said it, like a fish. He had other heads of state phone us. Israel’s prime minister posted it on the internet, “Give him the Nobel.” The leaders of Cambodia and Pakistan announced they’d nominated him, as though announcing it were part of it, as though we tally mentions. A man flew around the globe collecting endorsements for a Norwegian committee the way you’d collect signatures for a petition to the council about a noisy dog.

And here, uff da, is the detail I treasure, the one that makes me smile into my coffee. The nomination deadline is the 31st of January. He took office on the 20th. So for all the phone calls, all the posts, all the gilded lobbying, the only nominations that could possibly count for this year’s prize were filed in the first eleven days of his term, before he had, by his own arithmetic, ended a single one of the eight wars. He campaigned all year for a prize whose window had shut while he was still hanging up his coat. We didn’t have to reject him. The calendar did. We just watched. Norwegians are very good at watching. We have long winters.

People think we sit there weighing his deeds. We don’t. That’s the thing I can’t make the world understand. We’re not grading his homework. We don’t owe anyone the prize for a ceasefire, however real, however loud the announcement. “He made peace” is not a sentence that ends in a medal, the way he believes it does, the way he believes every good thing ends in his name on it. The will of a dead Swede says the prize goes to whoever did the most for fraternity between nations. A dead Swede, I should add, who made his entire fortune inventing dynamite and selling arms, and spent his last years horrified at his own obituary, which called him a merchant of death, and so bought his way to immortality as a man of peace. The whole prize is one guilty arms dealer’s attempt to launder his name. We are, all of us, administering a dead man’s public relations. I find this clarifying. It keeps me humble. It should keep everyone humble, and it keeps, by my count, no one humble at all.

So who did we give it to?

An eighty-five-year-old woman. A judge. Born in Durban, under apartheid, granddaughter of a Tamil man who came to South Africa as indentured labor, a bus driver’s daughter from the poor Indian quarter, who became the first non-white woman to run a law practice in her province, who defended Mandela’s people when defending them was dangerous, who sat on the Rwanda tribunal and the court at the Hague, and who, at eighty-five, is right now a judge weighing whether a genocide is a genocide. When we told the world, our chairman said the rule of law “underpins the system we have set up to ensure peace,” and that “peace requires justice.” She wasn’t even in Oslo. She was in Nuremberg. In courtroom 600. The actual room where they tried the Nazis. You cannot stage that. God staged that, and God, it turns out, is a better satirist than any of us.

She did not phone us. She did not post. No prime minister demanded it for her on the internet. She had, as far as our deliberations are concerned, the one qualification the loud man could never manufacture, which is that she wanted the work and not the medal. The medal finds those people. It flees the ones who chase it. This is not a rule we wrote. It’s just the only pattern the hundred-odd years of our mistakes has ever shown.

The reaction from across the ocean was immediate. His spokesman posted that we “place politics over peace.” Ja. Perhaps. We’re five damp pensioners in a rainy city; of course it’s political, it was always political, it was political when we gave it to a sitting American president nine months into his first term for the promise of things he had not yet done, and we have been quietly embarrassed about that one for fifteen years, so believe me, we had a particular reason this year to prefer a woman with fifty years of verdicts behind her over a man with eight wars in front of him and a deadline already behind him.

Here is what he will never understand, the thing I’d tell him on the tram if he ever took one. We are the one prize he cannot buy, cannot post his way to, cannot have a friendly dictator phone in for him. Not because we’re incorruptible, nei, we’re as vain and wrong and human as the portraits on our wall. But because the entire point of the thing, the only power a small cold country’s book club has ever held, is that it goes to the person not performing the wanting. The moment you demand it, you’ve proven you don’t understand what it’s for, and proving that is itself the disqualification. He ran the most expensive campaign in the history of the prize and the campaign was the reason. He was never losing to Navi Pillay. He was losing to the concept.

It’s dark now. Four o’clock dark. The buns are gone. Kristin said “well” an hour ago and we all went home. I’m on the tram with my wet shoes, and somewhere across the water a very powerful man is explaining to a camera that the prize is rigged, that we’re corrupt, that he’ll win it next year, and he genuinely might, we’re only five idiots and we’ve been wrong before, Kissinger is still on the wall.

But not this year. This year an old woman in Nuremberg, in the room where the law once stared down the exact kind of man who thinks wanting a thing loudly enough should make it his, got a phone call she didn’t ask for.

That’s the job. We don’t reward the man who ends the war and announces it.

We reward the woman who spent fifty years deciding what a war was.

He’ll never see the difference. That’s rather the whole point of him.

Takk for i dag. I have to change trams.

[CHV Noticias @chvnoticias]

Ley Ricarte Soto sufriría recorte de $28 mil millones: Ministra Chomali responde a críticas y descarta “impacto” en pacientes

Más detalles acá ➡️https://t.co/rxHdOUXEWG

[PIENSAPRENSA 363 mil Seguidores @PiensaPrensa]

Presupuesto 2027 reduce recursos para Ley Ricarte Soto.

El proyecto de Ley de Presupuestos 2027 contempla una reducción cercana al 14% de los recursos destinados a la Ley Ricarte Soto, programa que entrega cobertura financiera para tratamientos y medicamentos de alto costo asociados a 27 enfermedades.

Para 2026, el presupuesto destinado a la Ley Ricarte Soto alcanzó los $189.696 millones. Para 2027, en cambio, el Gobierno propone asignar $166.951 millones, lo que representa una disminución de aproximadamente $22.745 millones.

[CHV Noticias @chvnoticias]

💊 El proyecto de Presupuesto 2027 consideraría una baja del Fondo para Diagnósticos y Tratamientos de Alto Costo, que pasaría de $189.696 millones en 2026 a $166.951 millones el próximo año.

La reducción de $28 mil millones a la Ley Ricarte Soto generó críticas en el Congreso. Y desde el Gobierno, la ministra de Salud aseguró que no afectará la entrega de medicamentos ni tratamientos a los pacientes.

#CHVNoticias #CHVNacional

[H @hernan_sr]

La fuerte reacción de Nicolás Copano a los recortes de Kast:

“Si uno hace una lista, los niños, animales y ahora ojo con la ley Ricarte Soto, van por los enfermos, no se puede creer lo que está pasando”

[Rodrigo Alfonso 🔬🧬🦠🩸 @MrBarrita]

@adnradiochile Estos camioneros son unos miserables golpistas

[FC Bayern München Español @FCBayernES]

🇨🇱 ¡Se armó el Dieciocho en Múnich! 🥟🎉

De parte de toda la familia del FC Bayern, ¡felices Fiestas Patrias, Chile! ❤️🤍🇨🇱

[Impunidad el Mal de Chile @Jfcardenasr]

Abogado. Nunca ejercio, Jamas litigo
Diputado. 12 años jamas promulgo una Ley
Presidente . 5 meses destruyo Chile.
Kast es un fracasado.

[BioBioChile @biobio]

Ni las papas se salvarían: ¿Se vienen las Fiestas Patrias con los asados más caros en cinco años? https://t.co/DBwr4GAYkU

[Radio ADN @adnradiochile]

Modifican registro de lobby y retiran nombre del hermano del ministro Quiroz de reunión por proyecto inmobiliario en Concón

https://t.co/OCH0GxO0NV

[Mauricio Daza @mdaza_abogado]

Me tinca que nadie va a hablar de esto en ningún matinal ni programa de televisión abierta el día de hoy… ni ningún otro día… curioso, porque son los mismos programas que pasaban horas mostrando la (inútil) zanja…

[H @hernan_sr]

🚨FRACASO TOTAL

Diario la estrella de Arica informa que desde Enero a Julio aumentó la entrada de inmigrantes ilegales por el norte de Chile.

Aumentó un 62%, pasando de 917 extranjeros ingresados irregularmente en 2025 a 1.488 en el 2026.

La zanja no sirvió de NADA, puro show

[El Maglio 🇨🇱🇮🇹 @Lettus_Maglio]

Portadas que no veremos en los matinales.

[Seba 🇨🇱 @sebastian_08058]

Nos fuimos a la B con el estafador de Kast.

[Paolo @GranPa0l0]

Hoy jugaron 16 jugadores en la U y casi nadie sale vivo de la crítica y creo que es por Gago que planifico muy mal el partido

[Alejandro Galdames @a_galdames]

@GranPa0l0 Creo que el cambio más que sea Aranguiz, a mi parecer era el cambio táctico en la cancha falló . Los extremos no ganaron una, perdimos gente en el medio que no buscaban la pelota

[Carlos @CarlosL53s]

Así debiera ser todo el periodismo, ser objetivo. Y coincide con los planteamientos de la izquierda, ya que la cuestión no es solo represión, es invertir en educación, cultura,deportes, etc. Pero la derecha y la ultraderecha, no es que no entiendan, no les interesa.

[H @hernan_sr]

El tío Tito hizo la pega y pidió en transparencia las cifras de cuánto aumentaron la cifras con la subida de las bencinas.

Afírmense, el estado en Junio recibió 60.000.000.000 de pesos mas que en enero por concepto combustibles, lo más probable que julio y agosto fue lo mismo, por ende, son: 180.000.0000.000 de pesos más que antes, en solo tres meses.

¿Dónde está esa plata?

¿Por qué siguen subiendo la bencina si ya están ganando con el bencinazo de Marzo?

[Lucha Wolf💛 @Lucha_wolf]

IG de la psicópata? https://t.co/p6qXCsZmTl