It took me a while to write this post. After what happened in Nice it just didn’t feel right spending time talking about petty stuff. It was too much. It was a deep jump into reality. And it hit me like a slap. I don’t want to speak about the political and financial reasons that support this situation. And no, I am not one of those yelling that refugees and migrants should leave Europe. I do not believe either that is a matter of religion or culture.  We are all the same. All human beings driven by a bunch of lookalike pulses and desire, with instincts deeply connected to our primeval roots. The difference here maybe is that some of us fight those instincts daily. Some others don’t.

How easy is too fall into violence?  How Dostoevsky was writing more than 100 years ago, you should not fight people, but ideas, cause these if instilled in weak minds, become the only  fulfilling reason to exists and the only one worth dying for.

In every instant of our history, every human generation had to face the same demons: poverty, exclusion, loneliness, fear, sadness. We call our excluded the ones that have been dropped out, but it’s not so easy and it cannot be accepted as an explanation. How many times we read on the newspaper headlines like..  “He was depressed and he killed his wife” or  “She was desperate and she killed her children”. This time the numbers changed and the violence escalated: 84 souls. Women, children, men.  All with a life, a past, a future. All with their stories, their dreams. All watching fireworks together on the seaside. All killed by the same man. A terrorist, a traitor, a waste.  Much have been said and written in these days. But one thing hit me. The profiling of this father of three, almost divorced. A man, that has been described as depressed, unstable, without money as a possible explanation for what he did and what he was and what he became.

I have been penniless thousands of time in my life, as I have been lonely, jobless or lost.  Some of my friends have been through divorces as painful as hell. Some others lost kids, or a spouse.  And still, none of us ever thought of giving up.

Sadness is part of life. How come more often than not we read of people apparently unable to confront it with dignity?

Violence is a petty excuse for those unable to face existence. The cowards whining cause “life is complicated”. There is no absolution for those that kill others to solve their immaturity. Their reasons are weak, as they are.

Evil is nothing more than ignorance and incompetence, it’s greed, it’s banality, as Hannah Arendt wrote in her analysis of Adolf Eichmann’s trial,  it’s facing the unsuitableness of living and refusing to behave in an adult, proactive way.  Evil is looking for a shortcut cause the long was it’s hard and require commitment.  Every terrorist, every killer every delusional psychopath fighting for Isis, murdering, raping, torturing others for pleasure, is nothing more than a humans unfitted for life. Not by nature. By choice.

The killer of Nice and all the others like him are a waste, a discharge. Not because they  were  lonely and without money. Not because of their religion, not for the Country they were born in. Not for the color of their skin. Not for their past. They are a waste of space and life because they decided to kill others in order to fill in their dissatisfaction. They chose to betray us. Not just the West World. They deceive the true core of being a human.

Of course there are other reasons. Like the ones of those that are actively looking for these unstable minds, to use them in their plans. Cause there was a plan in act during the night of the 14th of July. There are others yet to be found, pawns in a foolish chess game of political interests and money that is still going on and that is leaving  behind a long trail of bodies.

Still, when the cameras stop flashing and the mics turn off, when the experts and  the politicians are over with their speeches, there is only one thing that remains at the end of this muddle tarnished by blood. And it’s the silence surrounding a doll, placed close to the dead body of a child in a summer starry night of Cote d’Azur.

e.b.

 

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