Skip to main content

Avengers, Bad Guys, Hypocrites and Oscar Wilde

I got to the office and opened the Facebook page. "I'll just check out the news and move on to my reading. "Just a few minutes won't hurt!" That's what I told myself! An hour later, here I am dealing with the effects of it, pouring them into words so I'll be able to breathe a little better. "Who was I fooling?  Why do I tell myself such lies?"

 I read the news and made the repetitive mistake of reading the comments, the same obnoxious comments, many of them the acritical repetition of  the midia discourse, many ignorant, paranoid and delusional interpretations of history. "Man, life is hard!" One picture of a guy, in black, wearing a skeleton mask, on top of a motorcycle, a dead dark body, no shirt on,  covered in blood and the headlines explaining: "Skeleton masked man kills bandits in Teresina and gets popular support" "What a world!" The shock just grew bigger when I read the post that followed it: "I wish this guy would come to my hometown and get rid of the bad guys here!" Here was the place I live too. I thought of my kids walking down the street and witnessing the "justicing" of "bad guys" by the masked man.  I shivered. My stomach turned. "Horrible times!"

The bad guys... Who are the bad guys? How old is this person who talks about the bad guys? Four? Who does she think are the bad guys? The bad guys, for her, are the poor robbers, the petty drug dealers, the ones that stand on her way to her upscale fun parties. The ones with no education, no rights, cast aside since children and coopted by the gangs and their school of crimes. Interestingly, the bad guys do not include the Politician this person, who dreams of  cleaning her hometown of the bad guys, worked to elect for an important position in our Congress. A politician that with her aid has been trumping the democratic institutions, using questionable mechanisms to bend the country's constitution and putting our young democracy constantly at risk. A politician that has forgiven millions in taxes owed by fraudulent religious leaders, leaders belonging to the same religion as his.

"Well, money in the pocket, who gives a shit about democracy anyway? Right? Difficult times!" I wonder what is the scope of bad people of the man with the Skeleton mask, I wonder why she thinks it coincides with hers. I wonder how someone gets to be the kind of person that allies herself with a psychopath and is proud of it. I wonder if given information, he, the masked man, would still be aiming his weapons to the petty thieves and drug dealers.

I don't believe in shooting around people. "You may say I'm a dreamer", but it is against my nature. I'm no saint, of course, and my writer's mind takes my kind of revenge  on thinking of the surprise avengers and hypocrites will have when they walk down their basements, open their secret rooms and uncover their portraits. I imagine their shock when they finally see their souls, the deep marks on their faces, their evil gaze, their sordid expressions, the indelible records of their acts, their feelings. Will they scream when they find out who the real bad guys are?

Comments

  1. Gostei muito do texto. Tremo todas as vezes em que leio: "Fulano deveria estar morto!" Que energia é essa? E adorei o parágrafo final: o Retrato de Dorian Gray é um dos meus livros prediletos!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

All the faces I've loved

All the faces of men I've loved visit me in the quiet night of my noisy brain All the ones I once loved and came to hate or forget or pretend to have forgotten Lost in the cloud of indifference  I've carefully created
All of them come back  filling the emptiness  of my broken beaten banal heart In this quiet night of my crowded noisy brain
They march firmly towards me
stop and stare Inches away and shoot their questions right between my shortsighted eyes Why? Why not? How much? How little?
They give me no time to answer
They move and vanish like ghosts of the Christmas past Some fierce and revengeful  pass on the judgement they've held in long
You! They shout Too bold! Too coward! Too hot! Too cold! Too little! Too much!
I try to touch a face or another
I remember them Especially the ones I've hidden so well from myself "Hey, look at you!

Quando

Quando se é a sombra de uma estrela esparramada sobre o mapa-múndi, cruzando terra e água, longe e perto de sua própria constelação. Quando se está aqui e lá, quando se tem tudo e sempre se quer mais. Quando vão-se os anéis e ficam os dedos e é possível ser "um sem deixar de ser plural". Quando se "vê a linha fina que separa aqui e ali" e, ao vê-la, não se contenta enquanto não a cruza. Quando se quer estar lá e cá e se quer amar, amar, amar.



Menino Guerrilheiro

Arrumando o pequeno escritório, jogando coisas fora, abrindo espaço para iniciar a rotina de trabalho, encontrou os recortes de jornal: "Faleceu sábado de ataque cardíaco fulminante" dizia um deles. Os outros repetiam a história do ataque cardíaco, mas ela sabia, desde aquela época que essa não era a verdade. Líder estudantil do seu tempo foi  expulso da Universidade por ter opinião. Perseguido na cidade, viu roubarem os seus sonhos e resistiu. Seguiu para a Guerrilha do Araguaia, lá foi preso, torturado. Quando ela era criança, não se falava disso. Já adolescente, com a abertura, quando estudava história, ele era mencionado, junto a alguns outros amigos da família "Ele fez parte da Guerrilha. Foi preso, torturado. Até hoje passa por uns períodos de depressão." Nada mais. Toda uma geração traumatizada, não conseguiam muito falar do assunto. Tudo muito recente, talvez. O medo ainda uma sombra, logo ali, a espreitar. Ela imaginava um homem adulto, barbado, preso por…