It is not comforting to know that today the world is no more violent than before, despite what our eyes see. And when is before? Global peace is more impaired now than it was fifteen years ago, but not more so than a century ago, for example, according to some statistics. The measure of violence is a topic under discussion. But it is no consolation to know that there have always been powerful madmen killing senselessly, with sense one does not kill (powerful madmen?... twenty minutes searching for a more accurate name: evil souls with power?, fanatics in command?, violent leaders? ).
It is no consolation to know that this has been happening since man was man, and that the difference is that today we see the blood live and in detail. With ruthless thoroughness. We may soon be able to smell it, what will happen to us as technological apes then? Blood splashes on our faces at breakfast time and maybe this activates some mirror neurons, which then, maybe, prompt us to push the course towards more peaceful systems, who knows. Humanity is governed, perhaps, by the direct vision of suffering, and creates pacifying mechanisms, in an impulse of animal survival. A saving instinct. Does this almost optimistic account of the panic make sense? Wasn't it a bit like that after the two world wars that we are forgetting?
The images of the new (old) war that we see these days, or try not to see, millions of people, will it generate a mass movement (clouds of light points), slow or fast, silent or not, disorganized but relentless, natural and fearful, towards a world with less violent people at the helm? Shall we twist the pulse, of pure anguish, blessed fear, to the point of lowering our weapons, or, on 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 moving forward in an almost blind, almost meaningless daily race. With their eyes closed, they go through nocturnal dreams in search of a point of light. The young men and women of the world are a collective as varied and colorful as the fish on a reef. But they notice in their bodies that the horizon is drying up.
