The social parameter of human beings seems bound to retain a zingy taste. On planet Earth, whatever one’s inclinations, lifestyles or upbringing, there is still no gentle slope on which our existence can slide: the same eternal climb is on the horizon.
At least a salvific thought has arisen, it has some Christian ancestry in its blood: to be the last, to walk on the narrow and treacherous path, to recognise that one is also the other and the other is also the self, these are steps taken perhaps with uncertainty but which lead to Truth. Qohélet‘s sigh is quite accurate: There is nothing new under the Sun. Yet, a sinuously sinister unnew also emerges and imposes itself on our time: Violent Feminism.
However, the unity of ordinary people, of decent people, of people who, by their very own nature, wish for a better world for everyone is greater than the summed amount of the extremists: Not all men, not all women, not all whites, not all blacks.
Swiftly and unsteadily, a murmuring rumour also travels through the hallways. A wary rumour that reaches the extendable ears of random female listeners: ‘in Rome, a publishing house does not publish books written by men!’; or ‘ in London, an MP is calling for a curfew for men only!’; and what is worse, ‘men are no longer allowed freedom of speech!’.
A temporary darkness strides through the night that falls on this Earth of ours, and in the magmatic boiling of this endless conversation – with men from Mars and women from Venus – their breath makes one shudder. Some who, by accident of birth, belong to the male gender – the non-Cis, or even non-Wasp – admit there being a certain uneasiness, and fear the consequences of a plausible future based on what is happening today – they look at the great change that is on the horizon with suspicion. In short, their fear is what follows: that the just and sacrosanct claims of women, transformed into jagged ideas by violent feminism, could one day become actual weapons of war if they should fall into the wrong hands. Those of the non-thinking masses, those who adhere because it is in fashion and reason by ideological bellyaches.
During the same night other words spread: the violence suffered for millennia by the female gender is now returned to its sender, in a reactive movement that finds its strength, not so much in its own affirmation, as in the total defeat of the enemy, which today is still the heterosexual (white) man.
On the other hand, from the front lines of feminist intellectual circles, there are reports giving an entirely different narrative of what is happening. An example here in point, if a member of parliament, faced with the umpteenth unjustifiable act of violence perpetrated against women, proposes as a last resort a men’s curfew at 6 p.m., the question to ask is: Are we not underestimating the situation? Because at this point it is frustrating for women not to be forbidden to enjoy their limited freedom, which should be guaranteed to every citizen. Why is it disconcerting and unacceptable not to be free to walk the streets of one’s own city without being bothered or, regrettably, much worse?
And yet, even when the Heavens seem to open and the Earth to shake, all this is just smoke, and we are all fooling ourselves!
I believe that the time to address this delicate issue has come – with intelligence and without military arrogance – avoiding opening too many windows, but rather looking carefully through those that are already open. One must understand that the masses have the same pace of Gauss’s bell within them. There is the unity of the majority and there are the trails of the opposing extremisms. However, the unity of ordinary people, of decent people, of people who, by their very own nature, wish for a better world for everyone is greater than the summed amount of the extremists: Not all men, not all women, not all whites, not all blacks.
We do not uniformly belong to preconceived categories – without disrespecting those who love categorisation – and while the general impulse is to find in this infinite uniformity a comfortable nest for one’s own survival, the danger of recession to the mean is always lurking around the corner. In large groups the coronation by acclamation of idiocy occurs too often. Blind and empty dogmatic adherence always looks menacing, even if motivated by the noblest of intentions. This is why I ask – now worn out – to deal with these issues again in a new (2.0) context, because the only true distinction between humans is within, and it addresses only two existential choices: to be indignant or incensed.
The time is ripe, let’s be interested in colours but only for the sake of painting; let’s disregard urination, whether it be done standing up or sitting down; at night let’s not worry about whether preferring a well-known and loved bed to a new and occasional one; and, above all, about which biological apparatuses meet when the sheets swell out on the waves’ hollow, and the fight becomes greasy and deep.
You may ask: what about everything else? Everything else is elsewhere, and I am not concerned with elsewhere.