Chile has decided to lean into the theatrical absurdity of modern governance with the kind of commitment usually reserved for terminal patients or the chronically deranged. José Antonio Kast, a man who likely views the Enlightenment as a temporary clerical error that needs fixing, has appointed Judith Marín to head the Ministry of Women and Gender Equality. For those unfamiliar with the subtle nuances of Chilean political irony, this is roughly equivalent to appointing a pack of hungry wolves to oversee the safety and prosperity of a local sheep collective. It is, in every sense, a masterpiece of bureaucratic nihilism.

Judith Marín is not merely a skeptic of the ministry's mission; she is its perfect, screaming antithesis. Her resume includes a memorable performance in the Chilean Senate where she was forcibly removed by police for shrieking religious exhortations at legislators during a vote on abortion rights. In a world where "decorum" is a dying language, Marín speaks the dialect of the divine megaphone. Her appointment is the political version of a middle finger, extended not just to the activists she despises, but to the very concept of administrative logic. Kast is not just forming a government; he is assembling a circus where the lions are in charge of the tamer’s whip.

But let us not pretend the inevitable outrage from the Left is any less tiresome. The indignation pouring out of Santiago’s coffee shops is as predictable as a Swiss watch and twice as annoying. They act as though the Ministry of Women and Gender Equality was a sacred temple of progress, rather than the bloated, performative administrative wing it has always been. The Left creates these agencies to signal virtue and provide sinecures for their own ideological foot soldiers; the Right then captures them to ensure they function as a reverse-gear for social change. It is a perpetual motion machine of human grievance, and frankly, it is exhausting to witness. One side wants to save the world through paperwork; the other wants to burn the paperwork in the name of a deity that hasn't checked His messages in two millennia.

Kast’s move is a textbook example of the reactionary impulse to "own" the opposition by weaponizing their own structures against them. By placing a woman who believes the state should dictate the biological destiny of every citizen based on her personal interpretation of "the Lord’s" will, Kast isn't just governing; he’s trolling. He knows that Marín’s presence in the cabinet will trigger a neurological meltdown in every liberal from Arica to Punta Arenas. And in the modern political wasteland, causing an ulcer in your opponent is considered a greater achievement than, say, fixing the economy or ensuring the lights stay on.

Marín herself is a fascinating specimen of the "Return to the Lord" school of policy. Her philosophy of "life from conception to natural death" is delivered with the kind of wide-eyed certainty usually reserved for cult leaders and people who believe they can communicate with houseplants. To her, the ministry isn't a tool for equality; it’s a pulpit. She doesn’t want to manage a department; she wants to exorcise a ghost. The fact that she was once literally dragged out of the Senate for screaming at her peers should, in a sane society, disqualify her from managing a lemonade stand, let alone a national ministry. But we do not live in a sane society. We live in a digital coliseum where the loudest, most unhinged voices are rewarded with the keys to the kingdom.

The tragedy—if we can even call it that, given how little effort humanity puts into avoiding it—is that this cycle never breaks. We alternate between the performative progressivism of the Left, which builds bureaucratic cathedrals to their own sensitivity, and the petulant regression of the Right, which burns those cathedrals down while chanting slogans from the 14th century. Neither side has the slightest interest in the actual well-being of the populace. They are both addicted to the high of ideological purity, a drug that produces nothing but noise and misery.

So, here we are. Chile, a country with a rich history of political volatility, has decided to hand the torch to a woman who thinks screaming religious platitudes is a valid legislative rebuttal. Kast is laughing, the activists are crying, and the rest of us are left to ponder the slow, agonizing heat death of the collective intellect. It is a spectacle of the highest order, a comedy of errors where everyone is the punchline. If there is a God, and if Judith Marín is indeed His chosen messenger, then He clearly has a very dark sense of humor. Or, more likely, we’re all just trapped in a poorly written simulation designed to see how much stupidity a species can endure before it voluntarily deletes its own save file. Either way, the ministry is in good hands—if those hands are currently clutching a rosary and shaking with the fervor of a medieval inquisitor.