Sunday, November 21, 2010
The club of friends of the victims
Francesco Palazzo
seemed, in the nineties, after massacres, that all that blood was spilled at least served to achieve shared awareness, a common threshold of pain. That the bar of what can be tolerated, not only inside the courtroom, but in first place in the streets of our daily lives, public and private, was placed very high. Not so, we were wrong once again. That the policy is allowed to cross at will. We can pass both above and below. Or sideways. On alternate days. When is the best. Then just say the magic little phrase that resolves everything. Blathered deeply. With thundering voice and arrogant enough. The question should not give us moral lessons anybody. How many thousands of times have we heard these words? We have the ear-bleeding. We, and we stress, thus ends the litany, we are the party of this and that. As if it were enough to deal with consistency and dignity of present and future, out of the holy bloody dapper pocket of those who can not lift the finger and tell her. Using them, the saints, as a pass for themselves and like so many red cards. Which expel from the camp anyone who wants to discuss the debate on the merits, beyond the propaganda about events and people. The holy cards are always good. You can use every time. Not always in the same direction. Once on the straight, the other for the reverse. Who cares. Who has the moral alibi airbags in cars such as the built-in, can do this and more. Moreover, it is a little game really easy, just put one word after another diligently. And the words that you pay? We need to call the living dead. To convince and persuade, to be on the right track. They forget that the dead speak to us loud and clear already through their stories, certainly did not need to be bent to small and sometimes ambiguous, low mintage, the need for the workshop. What you do when you have public responsibility, if indeed it deserves, should shine on his own. If you try to light it reflected light, the one who has paid the price of life not to bow your head, it means that you are holding false coins. And then, take possession of certain products, is more than suspect. If tried to bring back the clocks for a moment of history and record, we could ascertain how often the car of mud, even when the dead were alive, would not spare them at all. And, sometimes, surprise, surprise, friends of today are the sworn enemies of yesterday. In Sicily, the Mafia have so many died by the hand and tender loving companions. It 'easy to be a friend of the dead. Just every now and bring a flower, or even faded plastic, always crowded on the grave of rhetoric. And there is no area of \u200b\u200bhuman knowledge more full of political rhetoric. It can not anymore. At least let's get this one point. We are all adults and vaccinated. Therefore, able to capire, da soli, senza l’aiuto di improbabili maestri di vita, che spesso alla dura pratica preferiscono la spumeggiante teoria, cosa hanno fatto i morti. E, soprattutto, cosa fanno, oggi, i vivi. Ai quali non servirà a nulla nascondersi dietro la memoria dei giganti. Tanto, se uno è nano, si vede lo stesso.
