To the Barricades
We have a diplomatically inept Europe, presidents with dirty underwear and borders that are bursting at the seams.
In the summer haze, lulled by the humming of the fan, I waste time with a professionalism that shocks even me. I have a long history of doing three things at once – pacing the hallway so often that my husband says he’s going to catch a cold – and a schedule worthy of a member of the consulate of some admired country; but today the changes, not just physical but moral, threaten to turn me into someone else. Sustained by August’s laziness and by this humidity that forces me to ask myself for permission to move, I look at my phone screen and scroll through the Instagram universe that my publisher has urged me to frequent. With a swipe of my index finger, a flood of recommendations for chair tai chi, tips for before bed, for breathing, a dietary supplement that science ignores, and other delights pass before my eyes. I scroll past people recommending books they’ll never read, spots that tourism hasn’t reached and croquettes that don’t make you gain weight.
But suddenly, Richard Gere appears with all his wrinkles in place, his natural gray hair, and those little eyes that crinkle when he smiles. I pause and turn up the volume. I see he’s at one of those forums organized by banks or newspapers to raise awareness, sitting in an armchair across from a reporter, and suddenly, he starts speaking out - just like when Daniel Ortega, Nicaragua’s dictator president, was a guerrilla fighter and a freedom lover. I stay to watch; I like to watch men who’ve matured and come into their own.
I’m perfectly aware that I’m past the age of rebellion. Lately, I’ve been putting up with the outbursts of this planet I live on, feeling almost defeated, but if Gere can raise his voice, hush those who applaud, and say he’s experiencing the darkest moment of his life, I will listen to him. Addressing the audience and talking about Donald Trump and his country, the actor asks who would have thought that a maniac like Trump would become president of the United States and dismantle everything in a couple of weeks.
“How is this even possible?” the actor asks himself, lamenting that he was not involved enough to warn people of the danger that was coming and acknowledging that we must all take our fair share of responsibility. He warns that it is imperative that we make the effort to recognize these monstrous dictatorships that are now climbing their way into established democracies. And I thought that he was right: that we can’t keep dozing off and giving in to them, conceding one thing today and another tomorrow, arguing that deep down, they’re good guys and everything is fine.
No. They’re not good guys, and everything is not fine. We have a Europe that’s scared out of its wits and diplomatically inept, presidents with dirty underwear, and borders that are bursting at the seams like old clothes. Perhaps it’s time to return to the barricades and stop following fools who come to lead us toward progress.
In the summer haze, lulled by the humming of the fan, I waste time with a professionalism that shocks even me. I have a long history of doing three things at once – pacing the hallway so often that my husband says he’s going to catch a cold – and a schedule worthy of a member of the consulate of some admired country; but today the changes, not just physical but moral, threaten to turn me into someone else. Sustained by August’s laziness and by this humidity that forces me to ask myself for permission to move, I look at my phone screen and scroll through the Instagram universe that my publisher has urged me to frequent. With a swipe of my index finger, a flood of recommendations for chair tai chi, tips for before bed, for breathing, a dietary supplement that science ignores, and other delights pass before my eyes. I scroll past people recommending books they’ll never read, spots that tourism hasn’t reached and croquettes that don’t make you gain weight.
But suddenly, Richard Gere appears with all his wrinkles in place, his natural gray hair, and those little eyes that crinkle when he smiles. I pause and turn up the volume. I see he’s at one of those forums organized by banks or newspapers to raise awareness, sitting in an armchair across from a reporter, and suddenly, he starts speaking out - just like when Daniel Ortega, Nicaragua’s dictator president, was a guerrilla fighter and a freedom lover. I stay to watch; I like to watch men who’ve matured and come into their own.
I’m perfectly aware that I’m past the age of rebellion. Lately, I’ve been putting up with the outbursts of this planet I live on, feeling almost defeated, but if Gere can raise his voice, hush those who applaud, and say he’s experiencing the darkest moment of his life, I will listen to him. Addressing the audience and talking about Donald Trump and his country, the actor asks who would have thought that a maniac like Trump would become president of the United States and dismantle everything in a couple of weeks.
“How is this even possible?” the actor asks himself, lamenting that he was not involved enough to warn people of the danger that was coming and acknowledging that we must all take our fair share of responsibility. He warns that it is imperative that we make the effort to recognize these monstrous dictatorships that are now climbing their way into established democracies. And I thought that he was right: that we can’t keep dozing off and giving in to them, conceding one thing today and another tomorrow, arguing that deep down, they’re good guys and everything is fine.
No. They’re not good guys, and everything is not fine. We have a Europe that’s scared out of its wits and diplomatically inept, presidents with dirty underwear, and borders that are bursting at the seams like old clothes. Perhaps it’s time to return to the barricades and stop following fools who come to lead us toward progress.
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