2023-10-21 03:19:00
A few days ago I gave a talk regarding time and I wanted to explain the perspective of dramaturgy: the art of recombining causes and effects, of historicizing conflicts and of assuming a form of responsibility when narrating events in time.
We knew that these wars would be accompanied by an enormous production of post-truths. Although the martial foundation is always the same – the hatred that proposes the complete destruction of the adversary – the atrocities of the battlefield give permission to replicate that same hatred on smaller, everyday scales, such as when candidates say they are coming to destroy the opponent. . This morning –also– some son of a bitch said that there was a bomb in our public school, thousands of kilometers away from everything, and we have had to explain the massacres on the Israeli and Palestinian sides to our children, something I would have liked be able to save them.
Simple joy is beautiful because it is the revelation of something that our perception cannot conceive.
A viral video showed hospital children in Gaza singing and playing in the yards twenty hours before everything was reduced to rubble. What we see, with that inversion of time that dramaturgies propose, is future dead children. We will not know exactly when the videos are from, nor who bombed the hospital (until Wednesday no one had confirmed this), but the damage has already been done: the horror stretches so as to know no edges.
What then is the joy of those children who are no longer here? What do you see in that video? What is seen – perhaps – in all joy when horror has already spread?
A libertarian syncretism
It baffles me that this joy is so much more moving than the next photo, the one of the corpses, before which our perception closes and blocks.
The other day once morest Peru, Messi had been left lying on the grass and was trying to catch the ball, like this, with his little paws in pincers. And he laughed. Like crazy. When he plays he is like a child. As he should be whenever we play. Even so, in that smile I might no longer help but see what that childish joy came to cover: the goal is always the representation of a victory, one that conquers death. That simple joy (like all of them) is not beautiful for its own sake; It is beautiful because it is the penultimate revelation of something that our perception cannot or does not want to conceive.
All beauty announces the horror it displaces.
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