Renzi’s capon
I apologize!
As a politician I know I shouldn't do it: I'm no longer free, as I once was, to abandon myself to my vis polemic , to unleash my genetic Tuscan nature by maramalding the remains of the unfortunate person on duty with my sarcasm, nourished by too many readings.
I should not.
As a politician, it would seem arrogance, it would seem abuse of a dominant position.
Just as, as an academic, I shouldn't comment on things I basically know nothing about, because I assure you that I don't know anything about this video on Facebook or the article in the current newspaper, except what the poet has summarized in this wonderful image:
I should not.
As an academic, I should dissect the question, analyze it with the tools of political science, or economics, or psychiatry, but in short with tools to be applied to a sufficiently exhaustive factual report, which, I confess, I lack.
Lastly, as a party man, because now I am this too, I shouldn't comment on the events of other parties, because this was taught to me by the man from whom I learned how to be in a party, my federal secretary, what for some of you he is a traitor, or simply an idiot, and instead for me he is a friend and a wise person, from whom I learned to resist, and not to overdo it, because the wheel turns…
I should not.
However…
But I can't even forget when, as a young man, I was told by those on the left further left than me that "er perzonale is bolidigo".
I cannot.
And if "er perzonale è bolidigo", then there is a personal memory: as a politician, I cannot fail to bring it into the Debate and I cannot but draw "bolidighe" conclusions from it.
Nor can I abdicate, to fulfill the obligations that my new condition brings with it, the Pasolini pact that I made with you, readers whom I consider worthy of the most scandalous research, and who have recognized my authority in my not wanting it , and in my putting myself in a position of having nothing to lose.
I cannot.
Or rather, I couldn't.
Because, let's face it: this blog doesn't exist, it never existed, so the words with which some dumbass sometimes tries to explain to me in rambling emails what the ESM is or why the monetary union has disadvantaged Italy do not come from here ( to give two easy examples), and therefore, if this blog does not exist, the words I have written so far, and which have not changed the course of events in anything, having been written on nothing, like the ones I will (not) write in the rest of this post, in the end I can afford to write them: anyway, no one will read them, in the blog that doesn't exist.
And so I (don't) write them, so much these words can be reduced to just one, of four letters, that every now and then I happen to write :
I ENJOY
but I don't want you to think that I'm a bbruttaperzona!
Instead, I would like you to remember my first encounter with thing , with the allegory of competance, on December 2, 2018. I would like you to remember the arrogance, the arrogance, the arrogance of thing, which before, with the cameras off, had refused to greet me, with a rudeness rare among the political class, which is made up, on average, of civilized people, not by nature, but by trade: because the job of the politician is to understand, in fact, that the wheel turns (or rather: this is the minimum wage of a politician's trade: then there would be more, and we'll talk about it later…). But it was clear why Carletto behaved like a peasant: to destabilize me.
Just as, to destabilize me, who treated him with courtesy, addressing him as she, because at the time, except for an error, he was not a parliamentarian (and therefore not being a colleague, it was not polite to address him personally), with the television cameras open, the peasant he addressed himself with a totally unjustified "you" from a person I didn't know: to establish a false familiarity that would disarm me, make it impervious (or so he hoped) to answer him in kind.
It was all studied, as was the stupid pappardella on "coverage" (you can listen to it again, and see it again in hindsight, which for me was also previous hindsight: on an optional measure, the coverage provided by the Government was more than sufficient, and in fact that budget which according to the "coNpetente" would have blew up Italy then closed with the lowest deficit in the last fifteen – 15 – years! So I was right, but this thing will never admit it).
What an annoying bully, what an insufferable bully, what a nauseous know-it-all!
But it's not because 1593 days after our happy meeting I see him in difficulty, I see him (or rather: the others see him, because I've always considered him as such) as a dead man walking , that I feel like raging on he. Maybe he'll get away with it, let's hope he gets away with it, who cares: whoever has such a faint spark of humanity in them interests me the right, I wish them all the best, as long as they're out of the box!
No, that's not why. I have no resentments. Just like you can't read something written in the blog that doesn't exist, you can't feel any passion for nothing mixed with nothing. Long biological life and even political thing, er coNpetente!
The point is another: the merits of the questions, as you know, do not interest me: I am interested in the method.
So, about the method, I have to tell you a couple of things, which are always the same.
The first is this: only a solemn fool, or an ignorant sesquipedal, or, more simply, an absolute incompetent (that is, the entire Italian media/intellectual class, plus a few opposition colleagues), can think that in a country that has suffered this :
(and he suffered it because of his friends) there is still political space for something similar to "moderatism", to "centrism". A country that travels 400 billion euros (let's say: 20%) below its potential is a country that has left dead and wounded on the road, a country that has ulcers that have not yet healed and that perhaps they will not compensate (from sarx, sarkòs) never. In this country, even if it is made up of (should I say sadly?) good people, moderation is dead. Anyone who hasn't committed suicide with the sweet death of abstention wants only one thing: to radically turn the page, or at least to fight for their own survival. You see the graph, right? It has been 11 years and more that the policies of the friends of austerity have kept the head of the country under water. What do you do if someone holds your head under water? Even if you wanted to ask him in moderation to let you breathe, you wouldn't be able to do it: the result would be a few more bubbles and a little water in your lungs! The only rational way is to try to strike him where he feels best. This is. And in a similar context, do you want to talk to us about competence (of someone who has never seen the historical series of GDP of his country), of moderation (of a bar bully from a distant suburb)?
Come on, it's already funny like this…
Then there is the second method lesson.
I'm not bad. I am patient. I spent the most beautiful and suffering years of my adolescence and early youth in the middle of the rivers. I brought their disenchantment and the flow of that water with me. I've seen many things happen, good and bad. There are images that I will never forget, such as the time when, in a double canoe, I passed over something that was no longer someone (and my boat mate, who was younger than me, didn't take it very well: when he went down on the wharf his hands were dripping with blood: in the frenzy of getting away from that macabre spectacle he had scraped the skin on the backs of his hands with the handles of the oars… As a reader of Poe, I made a different calculation: precisely why end up embracing that something would have been an unpleasant experience, it was better to entrust the balance of our trajectory to the coldness of the technical gesture).
I can wait.
I know you will pass.
Whether you're the silly Sderenippo on Twitter, or the seemingly less silly allegory of competance, I know you'll pass by, that I'll see you, and that you won't impress me, or even pity.
Piety has been dead for some time (I would say, by eye, since 2012).
So, like saying: if you attack me and I don't answer you, it doesn't mean you've won: it just means I'm waiting. And to the others: if someone attacks me, and I don't answer, instead of coming to annoy me, to explain to me what to do, instead of inciting me to sterile brawls, long popcorn and wait with me.
I've told you so many times, and you didn't understand me, but it was definitely my fault: I'm not a good teacher.
Today the news explains it to you, and if you're not understanding it maybe it's your fault: open your eyes!
The wind of history is in our sails, believe it or not. I know better than you that your head is under water: it was I who pointed this out to you and who explained who was holding it there. I know it's hard to bear, to resist.
But this is a war of attrition, and now it's their turn.
(Not) see you on Saturday.
This is a machine translation of a post (in Italian) written by Alberto Bagnai and published on Goofynomics at the URL https://goofynomics.blogspot.com/2023/04/il-cappone-di-renzi.html on Thu, 13 Apr 2023 20:29:00 +0000. Some rights reserved under CC BY-NC-ND 3.0 license.