The hatred is. Always is. Without stopping it is. So ubiquitous it is. In the photo hatred permeates everything. A stark image of the living, the dead and the living-dead. An unimagined reality. An inhabit the void. Don’t miss the emphasis with which the exultant hitman addresses the living-dead, while behind him the dead-dead drift aimlessly down a calm river of brown blood. An immeasurable hyperbole of madness and barbarism. Each one divided the fear as best they could. Maradona clung to the totem that symbolizes the union of the tribe as the last barricade where we can take refuge. Our hearts were no longer there, they were somewhere else, and nowhere. Humanity was already damaged.
It is yesterday’s fascism who speaks. To pure hatred. As fascism speaks today. With that headless brutality that wounds and scrapes, that bites and bleeds, and that convinces that carrying a pistol on your belt is a more effective measure than wearing a mask.
We live subjected to the apotheosis of libel and otherness. To a new form of nihilism. A nihilism of “libertarian” violence that does not emanate from a feeling of anger at the injustice of the world, but from a class resentment – parallel to gender resentment – that is projected onto fellow men against whom the most exquisite cruelty is exercised. A hatred that runs through, that addicts and degrades. That is built on the conviction that the other is a permanent threat.
Air is needed to breathe, no matter where it comes from, whatever country it is. Some realities can only be reached by listening. We pretend and pretend to listen, but we don’t. It is not enough to de-fascist the institutions, first you have to de-fascist the language. That amplification of the message that normalizes what should never have been normalized: “jail or bullet”; “one less”; “Subsidized thieves”; “Let’s go armed”; “Gender slavery”; “Death is life”; “Freedom without vaccines.” A creative purgatory, which, as Huxley anticipated, is achieved by molding poor consciences. Thus, from the high voices of the media, the extreme minority sets fire to the political landscape in its attempt to achieve the centrality of the “biscuit” electoral space. Disposable molds of “libertarians” who have been denying their fascism since kindergarten, and who today are embracing a feverish “republicanism” with the militant desire that the country fall that we will raise it up.
A new way of looking, of feeling, of narrating, of challenging what is being looked at is needed; that partially neutralizes perplexity, hatred, fear and drift. We cover more of the world when we talk about the other, the good and the beauty, from a collective project of consensus, looking out onto a balcony from where the universe is contemplated. The ability to dream another reality is a process of recording, assimilating and digesting emotional experiences that help us to stay awake, that protects us from the sensory overload of what is inside and what is outside.
Fascism can be transformed is that great wave that is brewing far from the shore, where you cannot see it, in the middle of the sea, and that minutes later has just broken on the rock under our feet. We come from a long, hard, concrete silence, from broken dreams, from past and present hatreds. It is not enough to rage against the barbarism that devours us. There are other worlds out there to conquer. We owe it to those immortal mothers who fill their imaginary cemeteries with invisible flowers.
Former Velez player, and 1979 Tokyo World Youth Champion
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