Vogon Today

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The all-subitists and groundhog day

(… bark, bark everywhere …)

Deep down I'm naive.

The previous week iGiornali had said that we would be burnt out , and I, who as you know have the utmost esteem and respect for iGiornali, believed it. Having to go to my boarding school, I had therefore asked myself the problem of how to survive the seventh circle , or the seventh ledge . I could have held my breath for a week and given up on enriching the atmosphere with CO2 . The benefits would have been immediate (I believe it, because I believe in science deciding by the majority, unlike those neoliberal deniers at the WSJ ), but I would have been dead. Deeming such an excess of altruism inappropriate, I racked my brain in search of a hypothetical second best solution … until an illumination came to my rescue. Considering that, for reasons of atmospheric physics completely unknown to me, the temperature normally and on average decreases with altitude (mystery! Yet cold air is heavier…), perhaps it would simply have been enough, to avoid the end of Jeanne , finding a hotel at high altitude. After all, if the Aldobrandinis decided to build their villa in Frascati and not, say, in Coccia di Morto, they must have had their reasons. Following the ancient wisdom of the Florentine merchants, I therefore booked myself a high place , very high, but rigorously in my beautiful boarding school.

Leaving the motorway at Scafa, as I went up from Lettomanoppello, a hairpin bend reveals a wonderful view of Val Pescara: the Gran Sasso, the mountains of Campli and dei Fiori, the Conero…

I arrive, I install myself in my small room overlooking the sea:

(yes, the blue one in the background is the sea, clear proof that the Earth is flat, as Piccozzetta would say "closing the debate"…), I eat a little something (I woke up at 5, getting heavy would have been risky), and I go down the Val di Foro to Ortona:

where I had an appointment with a friend:

a mountaineer who deals with ports (and airports, highways, railways…) for work. I was expecting an atmosphere similar to that of Venus: the boiling sea, a dense haze, the atmosphere saturated with H 2 O (a greenhouse gas more present than CO 2 , which unjustifiably monopolizes the minor debate)

And instead, as can be seen from the previous photo, a horizon engraved in the sapphire, six-seven knots of breeze blown by the north-east wind, in short: a nice cool breeze, so much so that after the conference I went up the val di Foro in disorder and without hope I had descended with such proud confidence, thinking: "If it's so cool here, I'll freeze up there…".

But then, in the end, the coolness was sustainable (with an appropriate sweater), so much so that when the brown air took away the animals who are on the ground from their toils:

I, only one, left the Overlook Hotel to treat myself to this wonderful view:

that the Abruzzo people know, and that in the photo it doesn't make it, but without covering me with frost…

Now, the fact is that the irreverent young men of the Casacanditella League had proposed to the decrepit honoré Bagnai about a month earlier something that the honoré had wanted to do since he was younger than them: the ascent of Monte Amaro, the second highest peak high in the Apennines, and probably the most tiring excursion in Abruzzo , at least among those that make sense (if you want, it gets worse: you can do it starting from Fara San Martino , but then you have to stop and sleep up there).

I hadn't gone to the mountains since last October 30, when I had exaggerated, climbing "dry" (i.e. without preparation) to Mount Tartaro da Barrea , with the added aggravating circumstance of having stopped around 2.30 pm in a somewhat open, with a wonderful view of the Greco :

to release this interview:

Now, the mountain, as we know, is like politics: going down is more difficult than going up.

In both cases, preventing the descent from turning into a fall requires a certain physical effort and a great mental effort. I think so every time I see ex-ministers or ex-presidents speak in the hall amidst general indifference from their peon bench. I also think this when I look at my current condition. At the beginning of the last legislature I was the powerful (?) President of the Senate Finance Commission (role now covered by my friend Garavaglia). Now I'm the vice president of the Finance Commission of the Chamber, but that's okay. I have a lot of work, according to what the well-informed say:

In any case I'm not bored and I don't sit still, and this is the essential thing. Conversely, in October, coming down from Tartarus, stopping and cooling down the legs hadn't been a good idea. A few days later, the normal post-excursion pains concentrated in a sharp pain in the left knee, very annoying. I couldn't get out of my chair, it was painful to use the clutch pedal, etc. I had relied on time, which is always the best doctor, but nothing. Convinced it was a problem with the meniscus, I had dragged it out. Science told me that perhaps it was the meniscus, and that by having an operation I would solve it, but I, who recognize Science when I meet it, didn't want to put it in the hands of an orthopedic surgeon. And then in February an MRI (science) found that the meniscus was still the same as it was five years ago! SAR had immediately said "Go to the physio!", but I didn't succeed until April. It wasn't the meniscus, it was a contracture of the tibialis . In May I was standing. In June I ran.

But the most tiring excursion in Abruzzo…

Because the difference in altitude from La Fàrə is certainly greater (2400 meters), but it is better distributed, as you may have seen on Wikiloc (because you click on the links, right?):

while that from the Pomilio is half, but it is distributed in a somewhat unfortunate way:

You start almost flat, then you have a leap of about 600 meters, and then, when your legs are well cooked, there are three ups and downs of just under 200 meters each (the three gates) which, if you don't have a little head, they wear you out. Not to mention, of course, that a climb, seen from above, looks a lot like a descent, that is, a contracture of the tibialis. Not to mention that I hadn't been in the high mountain environment for years, that my shoes were broken, etc.

But I couldn't give in to the impertinent young people of the League (and not).

And so, with holy patience, two weeks earlier, to settle in, I had looked out over the eastern slope:

going up at 13 from the Balzolo towards the Madonna delle Sorgenti (itinerary, as you know, highly discouraged at that hour, due to the heat: but I'm not a snowflake : what doesn't kill me makes me stronger; in the photo, up there, in in the middle of the clouds, you could guess the path that I would then take to climb to the summit…), then I went to buy new shoes, etc. Obviously, in spare time. For example, I had gone to Balzolo moving from Paglieta, where I had been to celebrate San Giusto, towards Bucchianico, where I went to celebrate San Camillo de Lellis. A little break of solitude between one and the other commitment to be present at the college:

We return to the Overlook Hotel.

The next day, which was the day before the ascension, I was undecided whether to rest or not. The wise maître d' , who had extensively explained to me how tiring the excursion was, and that five years earlier, when he was in training, it had taken him five hours, etc., advised me to take two steps, and I, since I had to try shoes, a little late, around 9, I decided to listen to him.

Vox populi, vox Dei.

I take this opportunity to dispel a misunderstanding. I'm not bad. If it's coming from someone who knows what they're talking about, I'll take even unsolicited advice. The fact is that -248% of people on social media don't know what they're talking about , and this obviously doesn't prepare me for dialogue.

I was so unaccustomed to the mountain that from the part of the path that I had already traveled about fifteen years ago, the one for the Blockhaus and Monte Cavallo , I felt dizzy both when looking up, towards the path that I had never traveled yet:

than downwards, to the path I had walked two weeks before:

(if you zoom in maybe you can see it). Yet the high-altitude path was known to me and it was very comfortable: a clean track protected by the fronds and the balsamic aroma of the mountain pines:

However, the experiment was successful: the shoes worked. In the evening, a digestible dinner:

lu rentrocele homemade, with mutton sauce, and half a liter of Montepulciano di Villamagna: carbohydrates and serotonin to face the ascent with confidence.

The next day we started in earnest. Usual wake up call at 5:30, with sunrise over the Adriatic sea from the window:

and then off. The sun was rising rapidly, reflecting on the sea beyond the mountain of Ugni:

we stopped at the penultimate spring:

before tackling the 600m difference in altitude, those that according to everyone are so tiring, and which seen from a distance seemed to hang in the void, while up close they looked like this:

Sufficiently geriatric stuff, in short, and as far as fatigue is concerned, you just need to use your head to not feel it. If height calls, the body follows, and when around the edge of the Focalone you find this:

you have only one wish – to see what's next. And to see it, you have to follow the ups and downs of the ridge to the right in the photo. At the top the ridge flattens out, who knows where they are sees Manzini and Pelino lost in the lunar landscape:

and on the right, going up, the gigantic flows of gravel that descend towards the Orfento valley:

until, having passed a slightly exposed passage (the minimum that requires attention, considering that falling would not be fatal, but not pleasant either…), you look out onto the last step:

and here the highest point is indeed the summit, adorned with one of those awful divisive symbols that have been talked about so much (and I don't know how the story ended):

(in five hours, of course: like a trained one, because the head is trained).

Put down the backpacks:

you study geography on a living map, on the 1:1 scale model of a beautiful piece of central-southern Italy: from Fucino to the Tremiti, from the Conero to the Mainarde, from the Pizzi to the Gran Sasso, and you also try to eat something, strangely without great appetite, because the journey is rewarding. You understand then how much that rabid hunger that comes to you in the classroom at 11:59 has nothing physiological, it is all called by your anxiety to tear someone to pieces, which converts, out of decency, into anxiety to tear something to pieces. But where that someone would never reach, you can also walk 11 hours without wanting to munch on a cracker.

Then we turn to the return, and it is there that without a minimum of fortitude the ups and downs of the Three Gates can be a bit uncomfortable:

Obviously the young men ran:

(damn them!) but I preferred to go at my own pace. To play "the tempone" I cared the right (zero), to avoid another semester with a bad knee much more. And then, you also have to enjoy the view! Seeing the Morrone from above is priceless:

behind that green mountain is Sulmona, and immediately above my hat you can see Fucino. After all, if from Fucino you see the white rump of Maiella, from Maiella you must see Fucino: it works like this (with a prayer to Alberto49 and to that other one not to start arguing again about the theory of relativity: let's pretend that electromagnetic waves, which in basically we don't know what they are, they follow a rectilinear motion).

We also leave behind the "delicate" passage:

and from ups and downs to ups and downs:

we return to the top of Focalone, from which the long descent begins which takes us back to the crest of Mount Cavallo, first in sight of the Fusco bivouac (the yellow one) opposite the Murelle amphitheater (the one is a bit exposed, and in fact I don't want to go there go):

and then down, over loose scree and bumpy steps, much more annoying on the way down:

down, down to the coveted goal:

And I think the Overlook didn't expect honoré to return whole and so soon, but there's honoré and honoré. The native honoré, so to speak, confessed to me that he has never been there, not even by helicopter: I don't blame him, he has other interests.

It remained to understand when and how I would wake up the next day.

At 8, with loose legs, not aching, and with a great desire to taste the tart that I had preferred to set aside for dinner!

Needless to say at this point if my physical therapist told me to put on a fuchsia tutu and sacrifice a kid on the altar of Baal, I would do so immediately. There is science, there is science, and there are results. That 75 seconds of a certain stretch were enough to wake up at 60 better than I would have woken up at 40 I would never have believed it, but since I'm not a grillino, and therefore I trust it, I did it, and I saw the result.

Now it's Gran Sasso's turn, but earlier, at 3 pm, I had an appointment in L'Aquila for a debate .

After a brief stop in my room, to write a post on ego-anxiety , I left clear-headed, reassured, oxygenated, going towards what I thought was one of the usual debates, and which instead had moments of interest, because we were few , and we were in contact. This allowed the participants greater ease to ask questions to the alpha rapporteur, who was, inevitably, me, not so much because of my parliamentary role ( servus servorum Dei ), but because I was the creator of the Debate (which doesn't exist). A little time has passed (almost three weeks), I'm not sure I remember exactly the expressions used by my stimulating interlocutors, but the meaning of the questions was clear to me, also because they are questions that I ask myself every day, and that I I occasionally argue with the four people I trust.

The meaning of the first (and all in all unique: the rest were apostrophes, invectives, grillanza de right, on which we will dwell, but which it is really difficult to add value, as to any scarce raw material) was more or less this: given that we we have a common goal, which is that of our country's self-determination, and that today we prefer not to talk about some technical points of this goal, for tactical reasons, we voters how can we be sure that you politicians are still working on this objective?

Unfortunately there was no streaming or filming, so I can't guarantee the literal accuracy (let's add the usual habit of "debates", which is to transform questions – short sentences ending with a curl – into rallies), but the point was This. Before telling you what I answered, two quick considerations. The first is that at the bottom of similar questions there is always the grillanza, the assumption that your representative wants to fuck you, probably because you think so! In this sense, I confess to being an unrepresentative representative: I don't feel like representing the many somatically cunning people who come to expose their prejudicial distrust towards me. Who I believe and wish to represent should be clear from the work that has been done here and it is all in public consultation. The second consideration is linked precisely to this work: your fear that I will lose my bearings, which is also my concern since, as far as I know more than others, I am not omniscient, has been the object of an endless series of comments and debates (just follow the community tag to find them).

Obviously, the fact that the topic had been widely discussed did not make the question superfluous, and the answer was more or less this: we must start from the assumption that 2018 was a battle that saw us defeated, as he said with passionate eloquence Nello Preterossi to goofy10 (from minute 7, for example, but listen also to minute 12, in short: see it all again). We are therefore faced with a crossroads: to take note of this defeat, analyze the reasons for it, and adjust our behavior, or refuse to do so. The reasons for the defeat are quite clear ex post and, I must say, thanks to the help of many friends (first of all Luciano), they were also quite clear to me ex ante : the confusion between capturing consensus and exercising power. A confusion, it must be said, that smacks a lot of grillanza: that is, it starts from the assumption that #aaaaabolidiga is an indistinct blob, in which roles and prerogatives are confused, a legion of omnipotent slackers who, if only they wanted to, could with a touch of a magic wand change the world, and that the necessary and sufficient precondition for this to happen is having the majority of the legislative body (forgetting that there are three powers and that in addition to the legislative there is also the executive and the judiciary, which, incidentally, is the only one who can cage the exponents of the other two…). The first lesson to be drawn, therefore, is that perhaps to change things we need to invest less in gaining consensus and more in the exercise of power, i.e. in gaining loyalty and protecting the competence of the administrative machine (arm of executive power) and in making sure that the judiciary remain in the context that the Constitution outlines for them (a context which, I remind myself, obviously merely as an example paradox, does not provide for the use of the judicial police for the purpose of political guidance). But these are not the only institutions on which a majority must rely if they want to change the direction of the country: there is also the whole world of state-owned companies, ranging from information (Rai) to energy (Eni) to infrastructure (FS). – obviously I limit the examples so as not to take it too far – and there are also informal institutions, such as the glittering world of the media, and that of culture, which must be cultivated, infiltrated, hegemonized.

How is it possible, dear friends, that in a country where the educated man of the left is literally an imbecile who doesn't know how to calculate a percentage (remember the -248%, right?), a person ignorant of elementary arithmetic, a person who has read -248% of the texts he cites, in a country with a left made of anthropologically poor human material, is the prejudice that the culture is "leftist" so deeply rooted!?

Here: something like this you have to overcome if you want to win the war, because if you don't overcome it you will fight forever with the prejudice that being on the left is cool, and that being on the right is a sign of cultural and therefore moral inferiority, and consequently you will not be able to attracting (if not with money) the valuable people needed to implement a political project. But you can't get out of such a swamp with a fight with the majority, and you can't get out with a magic wand. You come out with time and work, a job that you obviously cannot tell, precisely because you find yourself in a position of structural tactical inferiority: being on the right is infamous, which, among the many consequences, also means that none of those who would like being with you has the courage to declare himself for you or even simply to reveal himself to you, fearing for his professional life (sinister mobbing is something unimaginable: I know that here you think he was born with a needle, but who was there before knows it's not like that and remembers how much we've been through…). Even just knowing who the people who are competent but not enemies of the country are is no mean feat, and not just for an obvious preliminary problem (everyone has the right to their own idea of ​​a country, of course: it is absolutely obvious, for example, that for a large part of the ruling class that we have inherited from the Democratic Party, the country's interest is achieved by selling it off to foreign powers), but above all due to the practical difficulty of forging relationships and seeking the truth and trust of the other in those relationships, even beyond the party orientation.

This work, like it or not, is done from within, by occupying buildings. From the outside it can't be done, simply because there are no opportunities to forge relationships with the car.

Hence my simple reply to my friend: "Given that the strategic objective is clear and remains the same, in tactical terms there are three political objectives: to survive, not to get pissed off by the international media, and occupy as much the conquered positions as long as possible. Only in this way is it possible to organize an effective resistance".

The Piddini don't know arithmetic, they don't know music, they don't know anything: this is why it annoys me when some fool calls them "communists": the communists studied! One thing, however, they know how to do: they know how to occupy power and know how to "invest in relational capital" (an elegant way of saying: developing a paramafia network of cross-loyals). They even made us a slogan, remember? #Let's make it!


So instead of complaining that "the communists, my lady!, are so very bad!", instead of confining ourselves to this dimension of godmother's chatter, let's learn from them! Our adversaries have built a tank in seventy years (yes, because in the Democratic Party there are pieces of stuff that has governed Italy since the 1950s, even if you didn't realize it). We have ten thousand blowguns. We can decide to fight them now, throwing our putty balls on the opposing armor, or we can silently build our own tank. There is an image above which is not a panorama and which should make you understand that this is not just a theoretical discourse, that we are working on it.

Does the voter not understand this?

Well, the grillismo was put on purpose so that he doesn't understand. So we understand, and we forgive, because understanding everything is forgiving everything, that the voter does not understand, but we will make do with what we have understood. If the price to pay for the òla on social media or the consent of some foolish person is the chain-and-ball bombardment by the various Rutters, Blumbergs, Fainanscial taim etc., the spread , the blackmail of the markets, etc., even not, Thank you! We have already given in 2018. You may remember (I don't know if I shared it with you) my graphic response to a former student (who makes good oil) I met during the election campaign: "Professor, I always respect you as a teacher but I no longer respect you as a politician!" And I: " Help me to ddì and sti cazzi! Ah! I'm sorry! And why?" And he: "Because she doesn't say so, so and so anymore!" And I: "But dear friend: if you think that the aim of the game is to take him in that place, I'd like to point out that you have that place too!"

Instead, the aim of the game is another: to throw it in the pocket of others. And this requires method, patience, and silence (in fact I talk about it here, in the blog that doesn't exist: I would never do it in public)!

Then another proud participant in the debate intervenes, with a question that was a rant whose meaning, ultimately, could be summarized as follows: "You came to power with revolutionary slogans and then you took it all back to stick to your seat [ NdCN : armchair said it: the fetid marker of grillismo showed itself!]. Now come and tell us that you want to stay attached to us for as long as possible! So, since you have betrayed [ NdCN : he also said this!], we might as well we voters vote for parties that promise us to remain faithful to their ideals: your irony about zerovirgolists is out of place!"

Yes, he wasn't exactly a political genius, we agree, and I don't remember how I made him understand, but here I think it's clear to everyone: in the meantime, we need to think about what guarantees the party of the pure gives not to "betray ". For heaven's sake, I absolutely do not question the moral integrity of sor Perepè or that other one who makes funny little films, God forbid! We have often given them a folding seat at our conferences, where they learned late the things that they now repeat to you out of context and out of time, attracting the consent of the Sciroccos, they are undoubtedly decent people and in good faith, but their good faith interests me as much as Prodi's. I feel affection for them, I am close to them in their incurable pain, which is that of wanting to be me, without being me, managing to be a caricature of me at best, and yet I ask myself: how can someone who is not himself remain faithful to what he does not want to be (i.e. himself)? However, I understand that this may seem like a personal observation, so I'm setting it aside. But the political issue remains. Why would a voter throw a vote down the toilet? To give a signal that doesn't arrive due to the inadequacy of who should transmit it? There is inadequacy, because otherwise there would be someone else in my place, right? Only in this way the barriers are not overcome! And even if they exceed each other, between three legislatures ten parliamentarians would arrive in Rome from Soap Mountain who would immediately find themselves at a crossroads: either condemn themselves to irrelevance by adhering to the mixed fry, or perpetrate a betrayal by renouncing part of their platform to form an alliance with other forces in an attempt to hack.

And we would be from the beginning to twelve: a new group of haitraditists would reproach the pure and hard poor (de coccia) with the guilt of having tried not to be irrelevant (objectively, without any success).

Because it must be remembered that when the League was 17% behind, there wasn't just a revolutionary message. Meanwhile, the message was not just one. And then, there was an organization to support him. Here we're talking about people who don't even know how many signatures to collect to present a list, just to clarify, who don't have a territorial organization, who argue about any detail: in short, the good show you see every day on social media! And what guarantees should this give to a voter who is not an imbecile (and who as an imbecile still has the right to vote, I would even say the duty, just to reassure us that imbeciles are a tiny minority)!?

Please, I turn myself in! I'm guilty too! I too have said a thousand times that I'd rather lose alone than win in company. But I could afford it. My pale and rambling followers are not.

Incidentally, you will recall that the Orthoptera were very insistent on not wanting to ally with anyone (of course, those born in 10 BC remember this), and it was not so strange. A party born to sterilize politics could only deny the instrument with which politics obtains its results: mediation, compromise, alliance. And the voters? Happy and cojonati.

In short: the wholly subitist idea is that since you can't have everything right away, then you have to start over every time: repeat the same mistake (that of thinking that the Veritah leads to consensus and that consensus is sufficient), without considering that a defeat has been suffered, that consensus no longer exists, and that even if it existed it would lead to Rome unprepared people, unable to find answers and footholds in the state machine, a machine that is made up of thousands of pieces, which they respond sic et simpliciter to #aaaaabolidiga, but that they must be known and involved. And that takes time!

We may have even betrayed, but anyone who doesn't understand this makes fun of you, and himself. Just to give you an idea, take a tour of this Wikimm page… There would be a thousand and one considerations to make. A compulsive reader of Saint Simon (not the socialist) will obviously immediately think of:

À mon retour de la Trappe where je n'allois que clandestinement pour dérober ces voyages aux discours du monde à mon âge, je tombai dans une affaire qui fit grand bruit et qui eut pour moi bien des suites.

M. de Luxembourg, fier de ses succès et de l'applaudissement du monde à ses victoires, se crut assez fort pour se porter du dix-huitième rang d'ancienneté qu'il tenoit parmi les pairs au second, et immédiatement après M. d'Uzes.

with all that follows, and in fact this leads us towards a piece of reasoning: the state machine has always been complicated, it is made up of many pieces, and one piece of this complication is understanding which piece should come before the others. But the reasoning I wanted to give you is different, and I know that some of you, overwhelmed by the grillanza, won't like it. Let's start with this photo . In 2018, I did not know any of the counterparts of these high offices: neither Napolitano, nor Alberti Casellati, nor Fico, nor Conte, nor Lattanzi. In 2022 I knew -60% of them (since Piddini like negative percentages): one of them gave Salvini a certain book, one was my fellow senator, and another was a guest at our conferences. I'm in my place but the relationship exists and it's one of trust – also because, I repeat, I practice the cover-up I preach to you and I don't abuse the trust I've acquired over time. Obviously er sor Perepè or er videomaker should start over (get it on groundhog day?). I enjoyed extending this reasoning, going down the branches to third-level positions, comparing how many I knew in 2018 and how many I know in 2023, simply based on my phone book. In 2018, of the first 223, I had five in my address book: the Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of the Interior, the Minister of the Family, the Minister of European Affairs, and a couple of undersecretaries. Today 48%, and on average they respect me for how I behave. I networked. What is true for people is true for procedures, rules, etc.

I know the topic very well: "Eh! But if you need this network to do what the Democratic Party would do, what about us?" I return to draw your attention to the fact that the PD's complaints about appointments in Rai (just to give one example) indicate that something is coming of it. If anyone is interested, there is tax reform. If anyone is interested, there is a reduction in the tax wedge. We're here to discuss other issues, but now I also have to deal with what you think are details or digressions, and which instead improve life for some people. There would also be the fact that not only sciroccos vote: I remind myself that Twitter users are 17% of the Italian population, and about 20% are fake, which brings us to around 13%. Outside there is a world, made up of 87% of people who have a life, which justifies the unpleasant paternalism with which I dismissed the problem of not being understood by a fraction of that 13%. Forgive me: the problem is not that I don't understand that you exist: the problem is often that you don't want to admit that there are others, that they have other priorities, which in any case must be taken into account.

I also know the other argument: "Eh! But if you have to be subordinate to the dictatorship of the spread , then the PD was enough, instead sicceroio I regained possession of the Central Bank and issued money etc. etc." [ NdCN: all things that I have never put in these terms, as whoever was there will remember, but let's leave it alone]. Yes, that's exactly how it works! I imagine it! He says, he does, he says: "Knock knock!" And Ignazio: "Who is it?" And Perepè: "It's me!" And Ignazio: "What's up?" And Perepè: "I want to print sovereign currency, open up!"

The rest you can imagine…

It's funny, isn't it?


In fondo è un po' triste che tutto quanto certa gente ha cavato da un progetto didattico così accurato e approfondito sia una visione così caricaturale dei processi politici, dove tutto si regola in base alla conquista della maggioranza del 51% da parte del Partito della Verità, privo di classe dirigente, di interlocuzioni con le magistrature, di nozioni elementari sul funzionamento della macchina amministrativa, di competenze legislative, di rudimenti di diritto parlamentare, ecc. Il lato umoristico, eventualmente, consiste nel fatto che certi sempliciotti vengano da me a spiegarmi come funziona er monno. Non che io creda di saperlo. Un'intuizione però penso di averla avuta: magari, prima di immaginare gesti politicamente eclatanti, bisogna assicurarsi, con le opportune riforme e con il lavoro di cui vi parlavo sopra, un minimo di retrovia, per evitare che il generoso slancio verso la trincea nemica diventi un massacro in cui il plotone di trombettieri si trova preso fra i due fuochi.

O no?

In altre parole: ve l'immaginate la gestione di una seria crisi valutaria, cioè di un evento che la logica economica continua a indicarci come possibile, con questa Banca d'Italia, con questa magistratura, ecc.? Io sì, e preferisco evitare.

Ma per trarre una morale corta da una favola lunga, la risposta è come al solito dentro di voi: dovete scegliere se fidarvi di chi vi ha spiegato come stanno le cose e come lottare per cambiarle, o vivere un eterno giorno della marmotta. Perché, per i motivi che credo di avervi illustrato in modo convincente (ma siamo qui per discutere insieme) quelli del 14 luglio , alla prova dei fatti, e al di là delle loro indubbie qualità personali, per motivi meramente oggettivi si riveleranno essere quelli del 2 febbraio . La scelta quindi è fra scommettere su un cavallo che potrebbe non arrivare al traguardo, o avere la certezza di entrare in loop.

Non credo che sia una vera scelta.

Tutto qua.

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/2023/08/i-tuttosubitisti-e-il-giorno-della.html on Wed, 16 Aug 2023 19:56:00 +0000. Some rights reserved under CC BY-NC-ND 3.0 license.