Skip to main content

It is as if it was necessary not to be humans to be survivours



While I was sweeping my room, they built a wall in Calais. While I was singing at home, they decided to lock the door of Europe. While I was growing up, they prepared the new Europe made of concret and iron. While I was dreaming of a white christmas, they managed to turn Christmas time into the most lucrative trade It has ever existed. While they were teaching me to be obedient, I started to be blind. While they were scaring me by talking to me about hells and devils, I started to be a slave. While they were designing the main lines of the educational system, I became a product of their civilitation. And again, while I was sweeping my room, they arised a concret's wall in Tijuana, in Ceuta, in Greece... May be its because we priorize the shine of our houses that the walls are arising all over the world.
-You are a ripping citizen, because you work in a bank -he told me. And I believed in him. But while I was being happy by working in a bank, some people were losing their houses because they had believed in banks. Some people had been growing up with the credo I had learnt too: being obedient, being scared by hells and devils, being a cute slave of my perfect world, being a perfect product of this civilitation... And all of them, like me, had been arising the sad world of the walls and the iron.


When someone talks to my daughter, she demurres, because she is a shy girl, and because she has a special hint to sort people. Sometimes I wonder why we lose our childish gifts. It is as if we got sick by developing our animal pulses. It is as if we got mad by being adults. It is as if it was necessary not to be humans to be survivours. The eyes of children are so clear! They may be hard, or sored, or upset, or even violent... but these eyes expresses what there is in their heart. May be, they would arise a wall or a jail or a killing machine... but if they understood the bad core of their acts, they would cry and cry... and would change. Adults would hardly do it.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Nudity is not promiscuity. Naturists are not swingers.

Many people confuse nudity with sexuality; but human sexuality is present in all parts of human body, not only in the covered areas.
In my case, I defend the exercise of a responsible sexuality within the family. I believe in freedom, of course, and everyone can do what he wants, but in my personal life, sexuality belongs to family; it is a matter of my wife and me.  On the other hand, I think that a united family is the best place where children can grow up. I think that love should be present in all human relationships. When I say love, I mean really the love, empathy, will of good for people I love. Feeling is neither the cause nor the essence of love. Feeling is an usual result of love. But love is more than feeling . I can say that I love you  when I want all the good for you, in spite that the good for you doesn't mean a pleasure for me, in spite that the good for you means an effort for me. I bathe naked on the beach, and I sunbathe naked, that's true... but I do not prete…

Order is not enough

Order is not enough.  If the order appears because of the repression...  If there's no freedom, what will the life be like?  Safety, order, uniformity, silence, urban harmony, richness, dominion... What are those goals for... if we are not free to dream, fly,  change the life, overcome all that is established, run away from routine, seek a newer world?  What would our prestige be for if we were'n able to sit on a beach and sing a song to the sunset in a warm summer night? What is our elegant suit for if it denies us the pleasure of feeling the wind, the sand, the sun, the water... in our whole skin?  What is our life for if we don't experience surprise?  It doesn't do any good to grab gold chains if they are heavy and ungrateful.  We are born to be free.

Horror and Hope in Catalonia on October 1 (by Mathew Tree)

The next issue was written by Mathew Tree in his facebook.       He gently allowed me to publish it here.

On the evening of the September 30th, I went on a stroll to my nearest polling station, the Fort Pienc primary school at the far eastern end of Barcelona's Eixample district; the same school which my children had attended from the ages of three to twelve. So I knew quite a lot of the people there, who were putting up signs on the walls supporting democracy and the right to vote and were going to spend the night there, organising activities that were non-referendum-related, as they knew they would get visits from the Catalan police, who had instructions to close any premises in which 'referendum-realted activity' was taking place.  The police had been twice, had been exquisitely polite, took note of the number of people staying overnight and left. The atmosphere inside was bristling with excitement, of a kind I'd seen before (on the major Catalan demonstrations of 201…