It is no comfort to know that today the world is no more violent than before, despite what our eyes see. And when is it before? Global peace is more deteriorated now than it was fifteen years ago, but no more so than it was a century ago, for example, according to some statistics. The measurement of violence is a topic under discussion. But it is no consolation to know that there have always been powerful crazy men killing senselessly, with sense you don't kill (powerful crazy people?... twenty minutes searching for a more exact name: soulless with power? Fanatics in command? violent leaders?).
It is no consolation to know that this has been happening since man was a man, and that the difference is that today we see the blood live and in detail. With ruthless thoroughness. Maybe in a short time we will be able to smell it, what will happen to us then, as technological apes? Blood splashes on our faces at breakfast and maybe that activates mirror neurons, which then, perhaps, encourage us to push the direction towards more peaceful systems, who knows. Humanity revolts, perhaps, with the direct vision of suffering, and creates pacifying mechanisms, in an impulse for animal survival. A saving instinct. Does this almost optimistic account of panic make sense? Didn't something like this happen after the two world wars that we are forgetting?
Will the images of the new (old) war that millions of us see these days, or try not to see, generate a mass movement (clouds of pinpoints of light), slow or fast, silent or not, disorganized but relentless, natural and frightened, towards a world with less violent people in charge? Will we twist our pulse, out of pure anguish, blessed fear, until we lower our weapons or, quite the contrary, will the blood excite the beast? Will all this simply transform again (soon, tomorrow), into the blurry vision of one more movie on the screen?
Meanwhile, young men and women do not know where to look. They look away as best they can, to continue advancing in an almost blind, almost meaningless daily race. With their eyes closed, they go through night dreams in search of a point of light. The young men and women of the world are a group as varied and colorful as the fish on a reef. But they notice in their bodies that the horizon is drying up.
