Having acquired 60 minutes of internet connection at Oslo Airport, and with only 10 to go, i decide to write a few sentences here, after having skyped with my family in Argentina and facebooked a little with Liz, whom i'll be meeting in Budapest.
Weird to think that internet connection is bought, immaterial as it is. What is one buying? Bandwith... But really, there's no band, and the width we're talking about is not truly measurable in the metric system. What is the material make-up of what i'm buying?
What i'm really buying is the possibility of doing something. In the end, that's what it comes down to: when you buy food, you buy the possibility to continue to fuel your body. When you buy a car, you pay for the possibility to move faster and at your whim from one place to another. And so on and so forth.
Air will be paid for, also, when someone comes up with the idea of scrubbing all the shit we've put into it with factories and cars.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Franco Sacchetti (1330? - 1400)
Passando con pensier per un boschetto,
Donne per quello givan fior cogliendo,
"To' quel, to' quel" dicendo,
"Eccolo! eccolo!"
"Che è, che è?"
"È fior alliso."
"Va' là per le viole!"
"Omè, che 'l prun mi punge!"
"Quell'altra me' v'aggiunge."
"Uh! uh! o che è quel che salta?"
"È un grillo."
"Venite qua, correte:
Raponzoli cogliete."
"E' non son essi." "Sì, sono."
"Colei, o colei,
Vie' qua. Vie' qua pe' funghi."
"Costà, costà pel sermollino."
"No' starem troppo,
Chè 'l tempo si turba!"
"E' balena."
"E' truona."
"E vespero già suona."
"Non è egli ancor nona."
"Odi, odi:
È l'usignuol che canta:
Più bel v'è,
Più bel v'è."
"I' sento... e non so che."
"Ove?" "Dove?"
"In quel cespuglio."
Tocca, picchia, ritocca,
Mentre che 'l busso cresce,
Ed una serpe n'esce.
"Omè trista!" "Omè lassa!"
"Omè!"
Fuggendo tutte di paura piene,
Una gran piova viene.
Qual sdrucciola,
Qual cade,
Qual si punge lo pede.
A terra van ghirlande.
Tal ciò c'ha colto lascia, e tal percuote.
Tiensi beata chi più correr puote.
Sì fisso stetti il dì che lor mirai,
Ch'io non m'avidi, e tutto mi bagnai.
Donne per quello givan fior cogliendo,
"To' quel, to' quel" dicendo,
"Eccolo! eccolo!"
"Che è, che è?"
"È fior alliso."
"Va' là per le viole!"
"Omè, che 'l prun mi punge!"
"Quell'altra me' v'aggiunge."
"Uh! uh! o che è quel che salta?"
"È un grillo."
"Venite qua, correte:
Raponzoli cogliete."
"E' non son essi." "Sì, sono."
"Colei, o colei,
Vie' qua. Vie' qua pe' funghi."
"Costà, costà pel sermollino."
"No' starem troppo,
Chè 'l tempo si turba!"
"E' balena."
"E' truona."
"E vespero già suona."
"Non è egli ancor nona."
"Odi, odi:
È l'usignuol che canta:
Più bel v'è,
Più bel v'è."
"I' sento... e non so che."
"Ove?" "Dove?"
"In quel cespuglio."
Tocca, picchia, ritocca,
Mentre che 'l busso cresce,
Ed una serpe n'esce.
"Omè trista!" "Omè lassa!"
"Omè!"
Fuggendo tutte di paura piene,
Una gran piova viene.
Qual sdrucciola,
Qual cade,
Qual si punge lo pede.
A terra van ghirlande.
Tal ciò c'ha colto lascia, e tal percuote.
Tiensi beata chi più correr puote.
Sì fisso stetti il dì che lor mirai,
Ch'io non m'avidi, e tutto mi bagnai.
Cecco Angiolieri (1260? - 1312)
Incredible! Over 700 years ago! How did they let him live?
S'i' fosse foco, arderei 'l mondo;
S'i' fosse vento, lo tempesterei;
S'i' fosse acqua, i' l'annegherei;
S'i' fosse Dio, mandereil' in profondo.
S'i' fosse papa, sare' allor giocondo,
Che tutt'i cristiani imbrigherei;
S'i' fosse 'mperator, sa' che farei?
A tutti mozzarei lo capo a tondo.
S'i' fosse morte, andarei da mio padre;
S'i' fosse vita, fuggirei da lui;
Similmente faria da mi' madre.
S'i' fosse Cecco, com'i' sono e fui,
Torrei le donne giovani e leggiadre,
E vecchie e laide lasserei altrui.
If I were fire, I'd torch the world;
If I were wind, I'd storm it;
If I were water, I'd drown it;
If I were God, I'd send it to the deep.
If I were Pope, I'd then be happy,
To have swindled all Christians;
If I were emperor, do you know what I'd do?
I'd straight away chop everybody's head off.
If I were death, I'd go to my father;
If I were life, I'd flee from him;
I'd do the same with my mother.
If I were Cecco, as I am and was,
I'd take the women who are young and graceful,
And leave for others the old and the ugly.
S'i' fosse foco, arderei 'l mondo;
S'i' fosse vento, lo tempesterei;
S'i' fosse acqua, i' l'annegherei;
S'i' fosse Dio, mandereil' in profondo.
S'i' fosse papa, sare' allor giocondo,
Che tutt'i cristiani imbrigherei;
S'i' fosse 'mperator, sa' che farei?
A tutti mozzarei lo capo a tondo.
S'i' fosse morte, andarei da mio padre;
S'i' fosse vita, fuggirei da lui;
Similmente faria da mi' madre.
S'i' fosse Cecco, com'i' sono e fui,
Torrei le donne giovani e leggiadre,
E vecchie e laide lasserei altrui.
If I were fire, I'd torch the world;
If I were wind, I'd storm it;
If I were water, I'd drown it;
If I were God, I'd send it to the deep.
If I were Pope, I'd then be happy,
To have swindled all Christians;
If I were emperor, do you know what I'd do?
I'd straight away chop everybody's head off.
If I were death, I'd go to my father;
If I were life, I'd flee from him;
I'd do the same with my mother.
If I were Cecco, as I am and was,
I'd take the women who are young and graceful,
And leave for others the old and the ugly.
La Compiuta Donzella (1250? - 1300?)
Not much is know of this poet; even her real name is lost. "Compiuta Donzella" means simply "Accomplished Maiden". She wrote in Toscanian dialect, which was later to became Italian, sometime during the second half of the XIIIth century. This sonet begins sweet, talking about lovers in spring. Then, on the eighth verse, it adds sadness to the sweetness.
A la stagion che il mondo foglia e fiora,
Accresce gioia a tutti i fini amanti,
Vanno insieme alli giardini allora
Che gli augelletti fanno dolci canti,
La franca gente tutta s'innamora,
Ed in servir ciascun traggesi innanti,
Ed ogni damigella in gioi' dimora.
A me n'abbondan marrimenti e pianti.
Chè lo mio padre m'ha messa in errore,
E tienimi sovente in forte doglia:
Donar mi vuole, a mia forza, signore.
Ed io di ciò non ho disio nè voglia,
E in gran tormento vivo a tutte l'ore:
Però non mi rallegra fior nè foglia.
During the season when the world leafs and flowers,
It brings joy to all pure lovers,
They go together to the gardens whenever
Little birds make sweet songs,
All free-hearted people fall in love
And every man brings himself forward to serve,
And every maiden lives in joy.
Except for me, for whom miseries and tears abound.
For my father has put me in a quandary,
And often keeps me in terrible pain:
He wants to give me, against my will, a husband.
And I for such have neither wish nor want,
And in great torment live I at all hours:
Thus, neither flower nor leaf gladden me.
A la stagion che il mondo foglia e fiora,
Accresce gioia a tutti i fini amanti,
Vanno insieme alli giardini allora
Che gli augelletti fanno dolci canti,
La franca gente tutta s'innamora,
Ed in servir ciascun traggesi innanti,
Ed ogni damigella in gioi' dimora.
A me n'abbondan marrimenti e pianti.
Chè lo mio padre m'ha messa in errore,
E tienimi sovente in forte doglia:
Donar mi vuole, a mia forza, signore.
Ed io di ciò non ho disio nè voglia,
E in gran tormento vivo a tutte l'ore:
Però non mi rallegra fior nè foglia.
During the season when the world leafs and flowers,
It brings joy to all pure lovers,
They go together to the gardens whenever
Little birds make sweet songs,
All free-hearted people fall in love
And every man brings himself forward to serve,
And every maiden lives in joy.
Except for me, for whom miseries and tears abound.
For my father has put me in a quandary,
And often keeps me in terrible pain:
He wants to give me, against my will, a husband.
And I for such have neither wish nor want,
And in great torment live I at all hours:
Thus, neither flower nor leaf gladden me.
Monday, December 15, 2008
The Day The Earth Stood Still, Version II
I've just gotten back from seeing this movie. As in the case of most modern Hollywood films, its 'message' is bland pap, tainted by big business interests (see how long it takes you to spot the windows logo). "Our species should not be destroyed. We ARE nearing a crisis moment, we have almost destroyed the Earth, but it is only in moments of crisis that intelligent species truly change and grow", says the big honcho Nobel price doctor. So what, change will just happen by itself, as if it were a simple force of nature? Who will tell us when the crisis is bad enough? What about intelligence, forethought? Aren't we supposed to be capable of planning and preventing? Isn't that what reasoning is for?
The only concession the movie makes to answering these questions is to casually mention that the big honcho doctor got his Nobel price for his work on the biological advantages of altruism. Some poor writer probably managed to sneak that in.
That we cannot change but in moments of crisis implies that we should wait for crises in order to change. As Naomi Klein says in her book "The Shock Doctrine", governments and powerful individuals have largely been using this idea to impose their own views on society, particularly in the last decade or two... The fact that they've been able to use this 'theory', however, goes to show that there is another side to it, because they had to plan and think ahead to achieve their goals. They PREDICTED what would happen, and even though they were not 100% sure as to what would happen if they tried this or that, they could guess.
So can we, when it comes to evaluating the effects our actions are having on the environment. We're in trouble now, and we're headed for even more. Species and ecosystems are disappearing as a direct consequence of certain of our actions and lifestyles. We must change those now! If we wait, it may be too late! There's too many examples of civilizations that carried on for too long with certain behaviors, as well as cases in which forethought and planning and a willingness to compromise saved the day. Take a look at Collapse, by Jared Diamond, for instance.
Maybe i'm exaggerating in taking this movie as an indicator of the mind frame of Hollywood movie makers. After all, this is not the first story, particularly in SF, where change is only brought on by the moment of crisis... I don't remember the author, but there was this one about a scientist who somehow, having access to a lot of resources, contrived to make it seem like Earth was being attacked by aliens. He sustained the illusion for decades, and in order to fight back the aliens all governments had to unite... By the time the lie was discovered, Earth had become united.
I have no patience with this stuff. It stinks of the "Deus ex machina" syndrome, the mark of really bad Science Fiction. Rather than characters failing or succeeding to solve problems thanks to or in spite of their travails, in the poopy section of the SF world problems get solved by themselves through some silly invention or device... In this case, the theory that we will somehow find a way to save Earth when we come to the edge of having totally trashed it.
It's real sad, though. I think many times people don't get involved in changing the world because they give themselves just this excuse: "things are not that bad after all". I know I've done it. Getting involved in change means giving up things, whether it be time, or goods, or convenience, or money, or power... How much are we willing to give up?
The only concession the movie makes to answering these questions is to casually mention that the big honcho doctor got his Nobel price for his work on the biological advantages of altruism. Some poor writer probably managed to sneak that in.
That we cannot change but in moments of crisis implies that we should wait for crises in order to change. As Naomi Klein says in her book "The Shock Doctrine", governments and powerful individuals have largely been using this idea to impose their own views on society, particularly in the last decade or two... The fact that they've been able to use this 'theory', however, goes to show that there is another side to it, because they had to plan and think ahead to achieve their goals. They PREDICTED what would happen, and even though they were not 100% sure as to what would happen if they tried this or that, they could guess.
So can we, when it comes to evaluating the effects our actions are having on the environment. We're in trouble now, and we're headed for even more. Species and ecosystems are disappearing as a direct consequence of certain of our actions and lifestyles. We must change those now! If we wait, it may be too late! There's too many examples of civilizations that carried on for too long with certain behaviors, as well as cases in which forethought and planning and a willingness to compromise saved the day. Take a look at Collapse, by Jared Diamond, for instance.
Maybe i'm exaggerating in taking this movie as an indicator of the mind frame of Hollywood movie makers. After all, this is not the first story, particularly in SF, where change is only brought on by the moment of crisis... I don't remember the author, but there was this one about a scientist who somehow, having access to a lot of resources, contrived to make it seem like Earth was being attacked by aliens. He sustained the illusion for decades, and in order to fight back the aliens all governments had to unite... By the time the lie was discovered, Earth had become united.
I have no patience with this stuff. It stinks of the "Deus ex machina" syndrome, the mark of really bad Science Fiction. Rather than characters failing or succeeding to solve problems thanks to or in spite of their travails, in the poopy section of the SF world problems get solved by themselves through some silly invention or device... In this case, the theory that we will somehow find a way to save Earth when we come to the edge of having totally trashed it.
It's real sad, though. I think many times people don't get involved in changing the world because they give themselves just this excuse: "things are not that bad after all". I know I've done it. Getting involved in change means giving up things, whether it be time, or goods, or convenience, or money, or power... How much are we willing to give up?
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
For Don M. - Banned
This is a poem by Mongane Wally Serote, a black South African author writing (mostly from outside his country) during the apartheid years. Poignant, and subtly rythmic, these few verses really caught my attention:
it is a dry white season
dark leaves don't last, their brief lives dry out
and with a broken heart they dive down gently headed for the earth,
not even bleeding.
it is a dry white season brother,
only the trees know the pain as they still stand erect
dry like steel, their branches dry like wire
indeed is it a dry white season
but seasons come to pass.
The pertinent coda seems, thankfully, to be: It did, indeed.
it is a dry white season
dark leaves don't last, their brief lives dry out
and with a broken heart they dive down gently headed for the earth,
not even bleeding.
it is a dry white season brother,
only the trees know the pain as they still stand erect
dry like steel, their branches dry like wire
indeed is it a dry white season
but seasons come to pass.
The pertinent coda seems, thankfully, to be: It did, indeed.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Looking back
Look at these expressions, these facial traits. Did they exist only on the artists' mind, or are they an attempt to represent real people, two who once lived and breathed in this planet of ours? Why were they portrayed? What questions did they ask themselves, and what were their everyday concerns?
According to radio-carbon dating techniques, these two miniature human heads were carved on mammoth ivory around twenty seven thousand years ago. They were found at a site in the Czech Republic called Dolni Věstonice, also famous for being the place of origin of the oldest known ceramic in the world. A good example of the latter is the Věstonická Venuše or Venus of Dolni Věstonice. 
These rests of our deepest past move me deeply. I think of the hands that gave shape to these objects and the hands that may have touched them later. I know I'll never know those lives, but I like to wonder about them and the events that led to these figurines ending up buried in the ground for over 25 millennia.
In 2004 a tomograph scan of the Věstonická Venuše allowed researchers to reconstruct the fingerprint of a child between 7 and 15 years of age who had handled the statuette before the clay hardened and was fired.
According to radio-carbon dating techniques, these two miniature human heads were carved on mammoth ivory around twenty seven thousand years ago. They were found at a site in the Czech Republic called Dolni Věstonice, also famous for being the place of origin of the oldest known ceramic in the world. A good example of the latter is the Věstonická Venuše or Venus of Dolni Věstonice. 
These rests of our deepest past move me deeply. I think of the hands that gave shape to these objects and the hands that may have touched them later. I know I'll never know those lives, but I like to wonder about them and the events that led to these figurines ending up buried in the ground for over 25 millennia.In 2004 a tomograph scan of the Věstonická Venuše allowed researchers to reconstruct the fingerprint of a child between 7 and 15 years of age who had handled the statuette before the clay hardened and was fired.
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Rape of Children's Minds
That is what most religions must do in order to survive: force themselves on the vulnerable and defenseless minds of children.
A Question of Duration
Apparently senseless parallel lines within an oval of compressed silicate dust, almost like the fossil of an impossibly bloated protozoan. But no, we know better: it is the print a booted foot left on the pocked surface of the moon.
Only 40 years have passed and already we wonder, is this footprint still up there? Has it changed much?
We often read how in the absence of an atmosphere, and without neither weather nor tectonic activity, man made marks on the moon should last eons. Yet, apart from micrometeorites, there are all kind of atomic and subatomic particles colliding against the moon all the time. How long will it take those processes to erase even that tiny mark?
Who will know in ten thousand years the name of the man wearing the boot that made the print?
If it endures a million years, will anyone know the shape of the foot that filled the boot, or what species it belonged to?
Will anybody ever go back up there to see these prints again, or is this picture all we'll ever have? Are they ever to be anything else than the human equivalent of a dog pissing against a tree-trunk? A mere "we were here" sign?
Will they be engulfed by the sun when it goes nova?
Will they survive us, the last sign of our ever having existed, and then at the moment of truth be wiped out by the rocket exhaust of the next species that lands on the moon?
Will they be covered and preserved by a molecule-thick diamond film, on an inhabited moon seeded with sweeping seas of grasses and incredibly tall and limber forests?
Do the men who made them long for those few hours on another world, almost 40 years ago?
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Records of Progress
Records of Progress, or RoPs, as we affectionately call them, are an expression of our innermost sadomasochistic drives. We might as well refer to them as RoPes and be done with it, for they tie us up and hopelessly bind us in a cycle of punishment and reward.
Rather than write a 600 character review of each of my students, it'd be great to just sit with each but for half of 600 seconds and tell them face to face how I feel about their performance, their behavior in class and towards their classmates, and what are the areas they can work on.
Rather than write a 600 character review of each of my students, it'd be great to just sit with each but for half of 600 seconds and tell them face to face how I feel about their performance, their behavior in class and towards their classmates, and what are the areas they can work on.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Lista de nombres
Ana Akari Åse Adrienne Anett Amelie Airiin Ailani
Andrés Amir August Aqqalukkuluk Atta Attila Alejandro Akamu
Bethania Benedetta Beatriz Bianka Borana Basha Buhle Bhudevi
Bogdan Banteaymolu Boris Bagdat Bhakta Bassiri Bunsuke Bane
Celeste Cecilia Camilla Chloé Carolina Cynthia Claudia Charumati
Charles Craig Carl Collin Cirilo César Cuauhtémoc Chandra
Daniela Deolinda Dandago Dubie Dawa Dinali Delisile Dhakshina
Doriyush Diego Dominik David Dick Dimuth Dlamini Deven
Eunice Ellie Elaheh Eva Emmi Enka Endora Eshe
Emiliano Esteban Erik Ezequiel Emmanuel Erlet Edin Ekon
Fabiola Fanele Filipa Fiorella Fátima Fumiko Fatoumata Falala
Facundo Francesco Ferenz Faaez Farhan Forrest Félix Fabumi
Gabriela Gjertrud Gili Guillermina Gro Gorreti Galilea Ghariza
Gerardo Gustav Giovanni Grzegorz George Göran Göksan Gamba
Hilda Hanna Herborg Harriet Heather HuiLing Haily Habika
Hans Håvard Hernán Horacio HaiDo Humberto Haden Hondo
Ingvill Ingrid Isilda Ingunn Irenea Itzel Iesha Isabis
Iván Ilias Isaac Ignacio Igor Itay Iain Issa
Jahnvi Jarmila Jodi-Ann Jacqueline Jariya Jigna Jacey Jendayi
Jorge Juan Jens Justice Jonathan Jim Jabari Jabulani
Kerstin Kaisa Katerina Kelli Klara Kübra Kadence Kainda
Klaus Kwasi Karamo Kaoru Kai Koketso Kadeem Kofi
Lucía Laura Linnéa Leila Liv Lorela Ladonna Lea
Leonardo Luis Lukas Lauge Luciano Lorne Lachlan Latif
Marina Margherita Mina Mette Mirza Monika Maeve Molara
Mads Mithat Marcelo Mahmoud Malthe Morten Magen Mikel
Nélida Nana Nuria Negar Nina Noelia Nakia Nekane
Natalino Neo Nareg Niko Nagi Noah Najee Naalnish
Olga Ortal Oumou Outi Octavia Otilia Oceana Oddveig
Omar Øyvind Osvaldo Oscar Oliver Otto Oakley Odakota
Pilar Palevi Paula Pia Pirita Phumzile Paloma Padraigin
Pedro Palden Philipp Per Pavel Pujan Paris Parounag
Qunchao Qin Qian Qingzhen QueThanh Qenehelo Quiana Qetura
Quentin Quinn Qiamuddin Qais Qwei Qaf Quillan Qabic
Razan Ruth Ragnhild Rochelle Rabia Rikke Rae Raysel
Raphaël Radigan Reginald Rudy Roman Rida Rahul Raimundo
Sonela Sabrina Saara Sandra SiJie Sumaya Sakura Sadaf
Sergio Shasanka Savant Seng Sebastian Søren Sameer Sachi
Tiina Taman Tania ThiQui Tamara Tekber Tabatha Taimi
Tsering Talha Tamim Tiziano Tien Tenzin Tad Taavetti
Upange Unity Umman Urška Ursula Uzma Ulyssa Upala
Umur Uldis Uros Ulrich Ugo Uzair Uriel Ulfmaerr
Volha Vera Vanessa Vaida Vivian Verónica Valencia Valechka
Valeri Vichetrath Ville Vedran Vítor Volkan Vaughn Vaclav
Wenao Wanwisa Wincy Wipawan Winda WunMin Wanda Wachiwi
Walter William Wonder Wendell Weston Wola Wade Wafiyy
Xiaohang Xilonem Xóchitl Xaina Xi Xuelan Xiomara Xuxa
Xiaolong Xianming Xiaochen Xavier Xan Xabiso Xander Ximun
Yara Yukiko Yaru Yfat YatMan Yenhy Yahaira Yaletha
Yilikal Yunior Youssef Yauheni Yiannis Yerzhan Yaakov Yahya
Zainatou Zeynep Zhenia Zaza Zuzana Zimasa Zaylee Zagiri
Zacharia Zweli Zmicer Zoran Zaid Ziv Zaire Zabdiel
Andrés Amir August Aqqalukkuluk Atta Attila Alejandro Akamu
Bethania Benedetta Beatriz Bianka Borana Basha Buhle Bhudevi
Bogdan Banteaymolu Boris Bagdat Bhakta Bassiri Bunsuke Bane
Celeste Cecilia Camilla Chloé Carolina Cynthia Claudia Charumati
Charles Craig Carl Collin Cirilo César Cuauhtémoc Chandra
Daniela Deolinda Dandago Dubie Dawa Dinali Delisile Dhakshina
Doriyush Diego Dominik David Dick Dimuth Dlamini Deven
Eunice Ellie Elaheh Eva Emmi Enka Endora Eshe
Emiliano Esteban Erik Ezequiel Emmanuel Erlet Edin Ekon
Fabiola Fanele Filipa Fiorella Fátima Fumiko Fatoumata Falala
Facundo Francesco Ferenz Faaez Farhan Forrest Félix Fabumi
Gabriela Gjertrud Gili Guillermina Gro Gorreti Galilea Ghariza
Gerardo Gustav Giovanni Grzegorz George Göran Göksan Gamba
Hilda Hanna Herborg Harriet Heather HuiLing Haily Habika
Hans Håvard Hernán Horacio HaiDo Humberto Haden Hondo
Ingvill Ingrid Isilda Ingunn Irenea Itzel Iesha Isabis
Iván Ilias Isaac Ignacio Igor Itay Iain Issa
Jahnvi Jarmila Jodi-Ann Jacqueline Jariya Jigna Jacey Jendayi
Jorge Juan Jens Justice Jonathan Jim Jabari Jabulani
Kerstin Kaisa Katerina Kelli Klara Kübra Kadence Kainda
Klaus Kwasi Karamo Kaoru Kai Koketso Kadeem Kofi
Lucía Laura Linnéa Leila Liv Lorela Ladonna Lea
Leonardo Luis Lukas Lauge Luciano Lorne Lachlan Latif
Marina Margherita Mina Mette Mirza Monika Maeve Molara
Mads Mithat Marcelo Mahmoud Malthe Morten Magen Mikel
Nélida Nana Nuria Negar Nina Noelia Nakia Nekane
Natalino Neo Nareg Niko Nagi Noah Najee Naalnish
Olga Ortal Oumou Outi Octavia Otilia Oceana Oddveig
Omar Øyvind Osvaldo Oscar Oliver Otto Oakley Odakota
Pilar Palevi Paula Pia Pirita Phumzile Paloma Padraigin
Pedro Palden Philipp Per Pavel Pujan Paris Parounag
Qunchao Qin Qian Qingzhen QueThanh Qenehelo Quiana Qetura
Quentin Quinn Qiamuddin Qais Qwei Qaf Quillan Qabic
Razan Ruth Ragnhild Rochelle Rabia Rikke Rae Raysel
Raphaël Radigan Reginald Rudy Roman Rida Rahul Raimundo
Sonela Sabrina Saara Sandra SiJie Sumaya Sakura Sadaf
Sergio Shasanka Savant Seng Sebastian Søren Sameer Sachi
Tiina Taman Tania ThiQui Tamara Tekber Tabatha Taimi
Tsering Talha Tamim Tiziano Tien Tenzin Tad Taavetti
Upange Unity Umman Urška Ursula Uzma Ulyssa Upala
Umur Uldis Uros Ulrich Ugo Uzair Uriel Ulfmaerr
Volha Vera Vanessa Vaida Vivian Verónica Valencia Valechka
Valeri Vichetrath Ville Vedran Vítor Volkan Vaughn Vaclav
Wenao Wanwisa Wincy Wipawan Winda WunMin Wanda Wachiwi
Walter William Wonder Wendell Weston Wola Wade Wafiyy
Xiaohang Xilonem Xóchitl Xaina Xi Xuelan Xiomara Xuxa
Xiaolong Xianming Xiaochen Xavier Xan Xabiso Xander Ximun
Yara Yukiko Yaru Yfat YatMan Yenhy Yahaira Yaletha
Yilikal Yunior Youssef Yauheni Yiannis Yerzhan Yaakov Yahya
Zainatou Zeynep Zhenia Zaza Zuzana Zimasa Zaylee Zagiri
Zacharia Zweli Zmicer Zoran Zaid Ziv Zaire Zabdiel
Monday, November 17, 2008
Not necessary, but still
I love to be alive, even with headaches and fears and uncertainties and muscle aches, and awkwardnesses and whatever may come my way. I love to be alive.
Marked
Here at the college students continue with their midnight birthday celebrations. Not the happiest of traditions (nor the healthiest), but at least they now make a point of doing their baking before 22:30, which means that the number of fire alarms has really gone down.
In any case, tonight's celebrant, Amira, has a sister staying at my place for the weekend, and she herself happened to be here when the clock struck twelve... Students then came in, threw a coat over her head, and carried her out.
My mind flashed back to the argentinean dictatorship, instantly. I never experienced it myself, but from the Nunca Jamás reports i know that's the way the military did it, too: something to cover your eyes, and you didn't know where you were being taken.
I know nothing will happen to Amira, and that her friends probably had a very nice surprise waiting for her somewhere, but still, there was an instant when i wanted to yell at them, to ask roaringly how they dare play with actions that call back such horrors.
But then i thought, there's no action in our collective repertoire that isn't evocative of some tragedy or violation. Amira was smiling when they covered her face, she wanted to be floated away in her friends' arms. I should be smiling, too. They've managed to recast past actions in a new light. There's still hope of redemption for us all.
In any case, tonight's celebrant, Amira, has a sister staying at my place for the weekend, and she herself happened to be here when the clock struck twelve... Students then came in, threw a coat over her head, and carried her out.
My mind flashed back to the argentinean dictatorship, instantly. I never experienced it myself, but from the Nunca Jamás reports i know that's the way the military did it, too: something to cover your eyes, and you didn't know where you were being taken.
I know nothing will happen to Amira, and that her friends probably had a very nice surprise waiting for her somewhere, but still, there was an instant when i wanted to yell at them, to ask roaringly how they dare play with actions that call back such horrors.
But then i thought, there's no action in our collective repertoire that isn't evocative of some tragedy or violation. Amira was smiling when they covered her face, she wanted to be floated away in her friends' arms. I should be smiling, too. They've managed to recast past actions in a new light. There's still hope of redemption for us all.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
A poem by Sheikh Saadi (1184-1283)
- بنی آدم اعضای یک پیکرند
که در آفرينش ز یک گوهرند - چو عضوى به درد آورد روزگار
دگر عضوها را نماند قرار - تو کز محنت دیگران بی غمی
نشاید که نامت نهند آدمی
- Human beings are members of a whole,
- In creation of one essence and soul.
- If one member is afflicted with pain,
- Other members uneasy will remain.
- If you have no sympathy for human pain,
- The name of human you cannot retain.
This poem used to adorn the entrance of the Hall of Nations at the UN building, in New York. What happened to it?
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Frederick Douglass & Helen Pitts
Frederick Douglass was born a slave in the early 1800s, the son of a black slave and her white owner. Separated from his mother, he was raised by a grandmother until the age of six, when she died and he was sold away. He taught himself to read, taught other slaves, was persecuted, escaped to the north, became free.
He believed that "Right is of no Sex — Truth is of no Color — God is the Father of us all, and we are all brethren."
In 1872, he was the first African American candidate to the vicepresidency. His presidential running mate was Victoria Woodhull, a suffragist. Their party was called "The Equal Rights Party". What happened to it?
In 1837 he met his future wife, Anna Murray, a free African American with whom he fathered 5 children. Anna died in 1882 and, after a year of depression, he became close to Helen Pitts, a white abolotionist and suffragist. Against the wishes of his children and her family, they married and lived together for 11 years, until his death in 1895.
"Love came to me, and I was not afraid to marry the man I loved because of his color", said Helen of their wedding. Frederick's words on the subject were: "This proves I am impartial. My first wife was the color of my mother and the second, the color of my father."
Douglass had willed his house to Pitts, but because there were not enough witness signatures on the deed, it was declared invalid. She then suggested to his children that the house be set apart as a memorial to their father, but they refused, wanting to sell it and then divide the money among themselves. With borrowed funds, she bought it herself and the memorial was started, and is alive still today.
He believed that "Right is of no Sex — Truth is of no Color — God is the Father of us all, and we are all brethren."
In 1872, he was the first African American candidate to the vicepresidency. His presidential running mate was Victoria Woodhull, a suffragist. Their party was called "The Equal Rights Party". What happened to it?
In 1837 he met his future wife, Anna Murray, a free African American with whom he fathered 5 children. Anna died in 1882 and, after a year of depression, he became close to Helen Pitts, a white abolotionist and suffragist. Against the wishes of his children and her family, they married and lived together for 11 years, until his death in 1895.
"Love came to me, and I was not afraid to marry the man I loved because of his color", said Helen of their wedding. Frederick's words on the subject were: "This proves I am impartial. My first wife was the color of my mother and the second, the color of my father."
Douglass had willed his house to Pitts, but because there were not enough witness signatures on the deed, it was declared invalid. She then suggested to his children that the house be set apart as a memorial to their father, but they refused, wanting to sell it and then divide the money among themselves. With borrowed funds, she bought it herself and the memorial was started, and is alive still today.
Questions
Isn't sleep the irrefutable proof that life after death is a myth? I mean, how can anybody believe that we continue to exist as conscious entities after our brain stops functioning, if we lose our consciousness when our brain simply slows down a bit, as it does when we sleep?
Friday, November 14, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
This is the year
According to that fortune teller in Guangzhou, this is the year i will die. The guy was nice. I was begging for money to get to Hong Kong, and he lent me some and read my palm on the train. That i didn't ask him for, but thought it'd be a fun, silly thing to try. I still do.
Now, if i actually do die, will it be because he was right, because i believed him, or because like Laius in Oedipus Rex, Basilio in La vida es sueño and finally Lord Voldemort in Harry Potter, my trying to avoid the prophecy will be the means by which it is accomplished?
To prevent this last, at least, i should strive not do anything different from what i would otherwise do. But then, how can i be sure of what i would really have done if the prediction hadn't been made? Plus, what an irony if, after having made an effort to live life as usual, i ended up dying of something that could have been easily avoided with just a little deviation...
Maybe the answer is to copy that character of Borges, who tried to imagine all the possible manners his death could take in the hope that, simply because he had imagined them, they could now not happen.
Of course, if i do die, it could all simply mean that he made a lucky guess, and me an unlucky choice.
Finally, if come march 3rd 2009 i'm still alive, then it'll mean that, once more, i'll have paid enough attention to another silly piece of religious baloney to have it occupy some of my neurons for decades on end. Obviously, if some part of my mind didn't still keep a measure of forbearance for "the occult", i would simply have forgotten the episode. It makes me angry and sad to think i have such little control over my brain that it may still casually focus on any kind of hocus pocus.
I can imagine the following scene, too: somehow, somewhere, a few years from now, i run across this guy and, obviously, he sees i'm still alive. When confronted with his failed prediction, he may very well say that fortune telling is no exact science (although, at the time of his prediction, and upon my asking whether any of what he said was avoidable, his answer was something about it being pretty much not so, and that destiny was destiny).
More creatively, he might say: "Ah, yes! I remember you! Of course, i knew back then you wouldn't die, but telling you you would set in motion a chain of events that meant that your life today is much better than it would otherwise have been".
If he came up with something like that, i might even consider giving him some money for sheer chutzpah. What would need no consideration at all is the well-centered and quite mighty kick that would soon meet his ass, of course.
Now, if i actually do die, will it be because he was right, because i believed him, or because like Laius in Oedipus Rex, Basilio in La vida es sueño and finally Lord Voldemort in Harry Potter, my trying to avoid the prophecy will be the means by which it is accomplished?
To prevent this last, at least, i should strive not do anything different from what i would otherwise do. But then, how can i be sure of what i would really have done if the prediction hadn't been made? Plus, what an irony if, after having made an effort to live life as usual, i ended up dying of something that could have been easily avoided with just a little deviation...
Maybe the answer is to copy that character of Borges, who tried to imagine all the possible manners his death could take in the hope that, simply because he had imagined them, they could now not happen.
Of course, if i do die, it could all simply mean that he made a lucky guess, and me an unlucky choice.
Finally, if come march 3rd 2009 i'm still alive, then it'll mean that, once more, i'll have paid enough attention to another silly piece of religious baloney to have it occupy some of my neurons for decades on end. Obviously, if some part of my mind didn't still keep a measure of forbearance for "the occult", i would simply have forgotten the episode. It makes me angry and sad to think i have such little control over my brain that it may still casually focus on any kind of hocus pocus.
I can imagine the following scene, too: somehow, somewhere, a few years from now, i run across this guy and, obviously, he sees i'm still alive. When confronted with his failed prediction, he may very well say that fortune telling is no exact science (although, at the time of his prediction, and upon my asking whether any of what he said was avoidable, his answer was something about it being pretty much not so, and that destiny was destiny).
More creatively, he might say: "Ah, yes! I remember you! Of course, i knew back then you wouldn't die, but telling you you would set in motion a chain of events that meant that your life today is much better than it would otherwise have been".
If he came up with something like that, i might even consider giving him some money for sheer chutzpah. What would need no consideration at all is the well-centered and quite mighty kick that would soon meet his ass, of course.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Messed Up Dream
It was as if i was watching a movie. Produced by me, obviously, and i was one of the actors as well. The writers and directors should be fired (probably me, too). Action quite fragmentary, but i don't know if that's because i tend not to remember whole dreams, or because it was one of those crazy independent films.
Brad Pitt and Michelle Pfeiffer were in it. In the first scene, they're a couple that's breaking up in front of a doctor. The doctor explains how break-ups work.
Then later i'm with my boyfriend. He wants to get pregnant. The aforementioned doctor manages it, explains how he did it. Something to do with a hose.
Next, my boyfriend and me are in our backyard. He's giving birth on a blue blanket on the grass. Our friends are around. I recognize only a few. My boyfriend seems calm and happy, but he has turned into a woman.
The spectator is not to know what the result of this birth is. At the beginning of the next scene, a caption at the bottom of the screen reads "Years Later". The image zooms in on a map, until you can see the outline of South Africa, except that in the dream i know it as Zambia. The camera finally stops on a dot that's a village called Respekt.
Michelle Pfeiffer and me are in a forest outside this village. It's a forest that used to be under her stewardship, but now it looks withered and sickly. We hear the noise of engines. We move cautiously through the trees. I think she may have been my boyfriend all along, but i'm just now realizing it. Our child's nowhere to be seen.
Brad Pitt has taken over the forest and is cutting it down. Among the yellow-helmeted men that are doing this job for him i recognize one of the students from my Spanish ab initio class, except in this dream he has hair that's long and blond instead of short and brown. I yell at him "How can you be doing this after i taught you!", but he smiles at me in his very friendly manner and keeps doing his job. He's cutting a tree with a chainsaw.
Pfeiffer and me try to stop all this, but someone produces a nail gun and they shot her in the leg. As my character runs towards her, the spectator that i am wonders why these men would have a nail gun when they're trying to cut wood, not put it together. Next moment, a nail is shot through my head.
The scene goes black just as it does in movies to symbolize someone's lose of consciousness, and for a moment i'm afraid i won't wake up again, but then the character played by me opens his eyes at the doctor's office, who is explaining how lucky i was. From among the public (of which i'm now dimly aware) i notice there's a gaping, bleeding hole in the middle of his\my forehead. The doctor, however, insists that "the nail slid around your skull and went out the other side, luckily".
I'm flailing on a stretcher, asking to please make my brain slow down. I'm thinking too many things at once, feel as if my mind is going to start smoking soon, so high is its speed. The nail has changed me, somehow, and the doctor confirms it by saying that yes, this is a side effect of the whole experience, and i'll have to live with it for the rest of my life. I continue to flail, arms holding me down to the stretcher, but i know my character is strangely happy. Somehow one knows he's actually pretending; in reality, he's real happy to have been so altered.
Brad Pitt and Michelle Pfeiffer were in it. In the first scene, they're a couple that's breaking up in front of a doctor. The doctor explains how break-ups work.
Then later i'm with my boyfriend. He wants to get pregnant. The aforementioned doctor manages it, explains how he did it. Something to do with a hose.
Next, my boyfriend and me are in our backyard. He's giving birth on a blue blanket on the grass. Our friends are around. I recognize only a few. My boyfriend seems calm and happy, but he has turned into a woman.
The spectator is not to know what the result of this birth is. At the beginning of the next scene, a caption at the bottom of the screen reads "Years Later". The image zooms in on a map, until you can see the outline of South Africa, except that in the dream i know it as Zambia. The camera finally stops on a dot that's a village called Respekt.
Michelle Pfeiffer and me are in a forest outside this village. It's a forest that used to be under her stewardship, but now it looks withered and sickly. We hear the noise of engines. We move cautiously through the trees. I think she may have been my boyfriend all along, but i'm just now realizing it. Our child's nowhere to be seen.
Brad Pitt has taken over the forest and is cutting it down. Among the yellow-helmeted men that are doing this job for him i recognize one of the students from my Spanish ab initio class, except in this dream he has hair that's long and blond instead of short and brown. I yell at him "How can you be doing this after i taught you!", but he smiles at me in his very friendly manner and keeps doing his job. He's cutting a tree with a chainsaw.
Pfeiffer and me try to stop all this, but someone produces a nail gun and they shot her in the leg. As my character runs towards her, the spectator that i am wonders why these men would have a nail gun when they're trying to cut wood, not put it together. Next moment, a nail is shot through my head.
The scene goes black just as it does in movies to symbolize someone's lose of consciousness, and for a moment i'm afraid i won't wake up again, but then the character played by me opens his eyes at the doctor's office, who is explaining how lucky i was. From among the public (of which i'm now dimly aware) i notice there's a gaping, bleeding hole in the middle of his\my forehead. The doctor, however, insists that "the nail slid around your skull and went out the other side, luckily".
I'm flailing on a stretcher, asking to please make my brain slow down. I'm thinking too many things at once, feel as if my mind is going to start smoking soon, so high is its speed. The nail has changed me, somehow, and the doctor confirms it by saying that yes, this is a side effect of the whole experience, and i'll have to live with it for the rest of my life. I continue to flail, arms holding me down to the stretcher, but i know my character is strangely happy. Somehow one knows he's actually pretending; in reality, he's real happy to have been so altered.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Case studies
One of the workshops in today's Global Concerns session was on Religion and AIDS. The students who organised it made a short presentation of the topic and then divided us into groups and presented us with different hypothetical cases for us to discuss. The groups were as diverse as possible, the idea being that we would be coming to these issues from different religious and cultural backgrounds.
The first case was as follows: You're about to get married with a girl. Before you do, however, she's raped by her uncle, who infects her with HIV. What do you do?
The first to speak was Allen, from S., who said he'd quit her immediately, as the rape showed that her family was not a good one. Then Albert, from N., said that this was a topic the answer for which much depended on where one was in the world. In countries with some resources, for instance, the HIV medicines available are so good at diminishing the virus' count in the blood that one may have sex and conceive children with an infected person, without the virus being transmitted to neither the fetus nor the partner. Safar, from P., said she would not shove the woman aside, but would continue to be a close friend and support her, but that the health situation would mean that marriage was out of the question.
In the second case the situation was similar: a committed couple, with one of its members having infective sex with someone else. This time the action had been voluntary, an incidental fling with an unknown person who turned out to be a carrier.
In this instance everybody in the group was very quick to point out that HIV wasn't nearly as central an issue as betrayal. Most agreed that they would break up the romantic aspect of the relationship, but that they would try to get over disappointment and whatever other difficult emotions the incident might have brought up and continue to be of support to this person. Some openly admitted that they wouldn't be able to help breaking off all contact.
Later we got a little bit off-track and went back to the first comment of the whole session, Allen's idea that the crimes of one person cast shadows on all their family. Some of us admitted that we had encountered similar attitudes in our own societies, but pointed out that we considered it quite old-fashioned and inhuman (or irreligious) in its lack of compassion... Allen admitted to this, but also made it very clear that his original reaction reflected the general view in his society. I then privately remembered the accounts of a couple of acquaintances of mine from that country, people who referred to the "good families" of possible romantic interests of theirs.
The unfairness of this view is the strongest impression i've been left with from this workshop.
Anyway, someone else finally took us back to the issue of AIDS, drawing a parallel between "dishonorable" actions of individuals tainting whole families and the social stigma usually attached to people sick with AIDS resulting in the shunning not only of themselves, but of their relations.
Although the consideration of these cases made for interesting ethical exercises, i'm still not sure how they tied to religion. Much more interesting were the arguments about the duplicity of certain religious groups, which with their "Hate-the-sin-and-not-the-sinner" philosophies are happy to set up aid centers to care for infected people, but oppose the use of protection such as condoms, which would help prevent infection in the first place. Most everybody agreed that avoiding promiscuity was better protection yet, but that denying condoms to those who could or would not live by such a rule was equivalent to condemning the supposedly beloved sinners.
At one point in our discussion, Phumi from S. mentioned how in her country the problem was more cultural than religious, as people believed that using condoms was simply a denial of their national identity.
We truly are a mixed (up) species, aren't we?
The first case was as follows: You're about to get married with a girl. Before you do, however, she's raped by her uncle, who infects her with HIV. What do you do?
The first to speak was Allen, from S., who said he'd quit her immediately, as the rape showed that her family was not a good one. Then Albert, from N., said that this was a topic the answer for which much depended on where one was in the world. In countries with some resources, for instance, the HIV medicines available are so good at diminishing the virus' count in the blood that one may have sex and conceive children with an infected person, without the virus being transmitted to neither the fetus nor the partner. Safar, from P., said she would not shove the woman aside, but would continue to be a close friend and support her, but that the health situation would mean that marriage was out of the question.
In the second case the situation was similar: a committed couple, with one of its members having infective sex with someone else. This time the action had been voluntary, an incidental fling with an unknown person who turned out to be a carrier.
In this instance everybody in the group was very quick to point out that HIV wasn't nearly as central an issue as betrayal. Most agreed that they would break up the romantic aspect of the relationship, but that they would try to get over disappointment and whatever other difficult emotions the incident might have brought up and continue to be of support to this person. Some openly admitted that they wouldn't be able to help breaking off all contact.
Later we got a little bit off-track and went back to the first comment of the whole session, Allen's idea that the crimes of one person cast shadows on all their family. Some of us admitted that we had encountered similar attitudes in our own societies, but pointed out that we considered it quite old-fashioned and inhuman (or irreligious) in its lack of compassion... Allen admitted to this, but also made it very clear that his original reaction reflected the general view in his society. I then privately remembered the accounts of a couple of acquaintances of mine from that country, people who referred to the "good families" of possible romantic interests of theirs.
The unfairness of this view is the strongest impression i've been left with from this workshop.
Anyway, someone else finally took us back to the issue of AIDS, drawing a parallel between "dishonorable" actions of individuals tainting whole families and the social stigma usually attached to people sick with AIDS resulting in the shunning not only of themselves, but of their relations.
Although the consideration of these cases made for interesting ethical exercises, i'm still not sure how they tied to religion. Much more interesting were the arguments about the duplicity of certain religious groups, which with their "Hate-the-sin-and-not-the-sinner" philosophies are happy to set up aid centers to care for infected people, but oppose the use of protection such as condoms, which would help prevent infection in the first place. Most everybody agreed that avoiding promiscuity was better protection yet, but that denying condoms to those who could or would not live by such a rule was equivalent to condemning the supposedly beloved sinners.
At one point in our discussion, Phumi from S. mentioned how in her country the problem was more cultural than religious, as people believed that using condoms was simply a denial of their national identity.
We truly are a mixed (up) species, aren't we?
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Revolutions
I don't believe in revolutions. It's just that they have too much of that: they tend to make things revolve, go in cycles. Look at the French and American revolutions, past lunges at freedom and equality in countries whose governments today rule primarily for the benefit of rich corporations; look at the Cuban revolution, already stumbling and being worked against by the exiled outside and the disillusioned inside.
If you have a revolution, it's very likely that in 30, 50 or a 100 years you will have a counter-revolution (except that the counter-revolutionaries would call it a revolution, too). The part of society that you stomped on during your revolution will grow in the dark, under the grooves in your soles, and no matter how heavy your feet are, they'll eventually shoot up branches and destabilize you till you topple. Even if you killed the last one of "them", even if their views were indeed responsible for a lot of unhappiness in your society, the violence you used legitimizes any future violence against you.
This is not to say that I don't see the need for change. In the particular case of our modern global society, where the greed for profit takes advantage of such obsolete ideas as national identity and local pride to blindside people into supporting policies that devastate their neighbors and, ultimately, ruin their own future, change is imperative.
But there are alternatives to violence. There have to be. A change of regime is not enough. We need to change the mode of historical change.
If you have a revolution, it's very likely that in 30, 50 or a 100 years you will have a counter-revolution (except that the counter-revolutionaries would call it a revolution, too). The part of society that you stomped on during your revolution will grow in the dark, under the grooves in your soles, and no matter how heavy your feet are, they'll eventually shoot up branches and destabilize you till you topple. Even if you killed the last one of "them", even if their views were indeed responsible for a lot of unhappiness in your society, the violence you used legitimizes any future violence against you.
This is not to say that I don't see the need for change. In the particular case of our modern global society, where the greed for profit takes advantage of such obsolete ideas as national identity and local pride to blindside people into supporting policies that devastate their neighbors and, ultimately, ruin their own future, change is imperative.
But there are alternatives to violence. There have to be. A change of regime is not enough. We need to change the mode of historical change.
Friday, October 24, 2008
The Story of Stuff
Check this out:
En español: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THGlNspyXDc
Or in English: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLBE5QAYXp8
En español: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THGlNspyXDc
Or in English: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLBE5QAYXp8
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
On bloggin and facebooking
I feel almost furtive writing here again. Most of the bloggers in my contact list have abandoned the blogging arena, their latest entries dating back to sometime in 2007. They are happily facebooking around, now. There's even a blog application over there, and i've indeed tried it, but there's too much traffic, too many buttons and links... Not to deny the merits of facebook nor anything (i mean, it's almost replaced e-mail for me) but as far as blogging goes, facebook seems like the easy way out. Instead of making an effort to knead your thoughts together, you can simply get away with a one-liner answer to the "what are you doing right now?" question on top of the main page. It's quite distracting.
Here, instead, the cybernetic air is purer, one has more space to breathe. Been thinking of taking my blog up again for a while now, and yesterday i posted my first entry.
Here, instead, the cybernetic air is purer, one has more space to breathe. Been thinking of taking my blog up again for a while now, and yesterday i posted my first entry.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Almost a lynching
I watched the saddest video today.
One can basically see this thief, or rather, the crowd that surrounds him when they catch him red handed, apparently trying to pick the pockets of an elderly man in my hometown in Argentina. They're talking to the thief and among themselves as they wait for the police to arrive, everything caught on camera by someone who gets there running, obviously desperate to capture the action. It's a summer day, short sleeves and bermuda shorts all around.
The thief is kneeling in a corner (you see him later), but at first you can only hear his voice: "I haven't done anything. Nothing happened." There's fear in it, and his Spanish is quite different from that of his captors, all from a different class, quite united against him. One of them, a guy younger than me, probably another regular passer by on his way somewhere when detoured by the fracas, says: "Let's kill him. Let's hang him from a tree and burn him. It's your fault that in this country we are in the situation we are." Literally.
The old man wants at him, too, but a couple of guys nearest the thief luckily make sure nobody touches him til the police arrives. When two officers finally do, they're greeted by general applause, and some irony. "Los bicivoladores", someone mutters, as they dismount from their bikes. Finally we see the thief, a slight, dark haired man on his knees. One of the policemen pulls the guy's hands back and cuffs them; his face is shoved against the wall. The crowd begins to disperse, and the video ends here.
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