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Num país civilizado, num estado de direito, Fábio, o presidente da Junta de Freguesia de Carnide já teria sido acusado de vandalismo, de instigar a desordem pública e seria prontamente constituido arguido. Os media, dos quais destaco a SIC e a TVI, acham piada ao evento, à rebelião de bairro. Hoje parquímetros, porque não agradam aos moradores, amanhã taxímetros porque os táxis cheiram mal. A população, que julga sumariamente na praça pública, e que arremessa pedras e destrói propriedade pública, ofende a Democracia que lhe dá pão para a boca da liberdade de expressão. Ao arrancarem a ferros a portagem da calçada, todos os argumentos racionais e credíveis escorrem pelo ralo, pela mesma sarjeta de uma Idade Média contemporânea. Amanhã mais parquímetros serão plantados. Assim não vão lá. Não usam a cabeça. Perderam-na.
Na Bélgica, país brevemente islamizado graças às políticas meta-tolerantes da União Europeia (que só não tolera a liberdade dos que nela nasceram, promovendo uma agenda neo-marxista de dependência estatal e pensamento único) a mão de ferro do poderio político flecte agora as garras ameaçando a vida de menores.
Já não bastava considerarem um nascituro, na barriga da mãe, como um não-ser. Tinham que estender o conceito às crianças.
Nascemos ligados a um catéter controlado por um botão sob os dedos de alguém sentado em Bruxelas. Crescemos obnubilados pela doutrina facilitista e infantilizante de curricula escolares feitos para amorfizar. Trabalhamos para pagar almoços a nababos inchados e carecas. E morremos calados sem deixar rasto.
E vocês? Já pensaram no que vão ver logo à noite na televisão?
Albert Camus, The Rebel:
«What is a rebel? A man who says no: but whose refusal does not imply a renunciation. He is also a man who says yes as soon as begins to think for himself. A slave who has taken orders all his life, suddenly decides that he cannot obey some new command. What does he mean by saying “no”?
He means, for instance, that “this has been going on too long”, “so far but no farther”, “you are going too far”, or again, “there are certain limits beyond which you shall not go.” In other words, his “no” affirms the existence of a borderline. You find the same conception in the rebel's opinion that the other person is “exaggerating”, that he is exerting his authority beyond a limit where he infringes on the rights of others. He rebels because he categorically refuses to submit to conditions he considers intolerable and also because he is confusedly convinced that his position is justified, or rather, because in his own mind he thinks that he “has the right to...”. Rebellion cannot exist without the feeling that somewhere, in some way, you are justified. It is in this way that the rebel slave says yes and no at the same time. He affirms that there are limits and also that he suspects - and wishes to preserve - the existence of certain things beyond those limits. He stubbornly insists that there are certain things in him which “are worth while ...” and which must be taken into consideration.
In every act of rebellion, the man concerned experiences not only a feeling of revulsion at the infringement of his rights but also a complete and spontaneous loyalty to certain aspects of himself. Thus he implicitly brings into play a standard of values so far from being false that he is willing to preserve them at all costs. Up to this point he has, at least, kept quiet and, in despair, has accepted a condition to which he submits even though he considers it unjust. To keep quiet is to allow yourself to believe that you have no opinions, that you want nothing, and in certain cases amounts to really wanting nothing. Despair, like Absurdism, prefers to consider everything in general and nothing in particular. Silence expresses this attitude very satisfactorily. But from the moment that the rebel finds his voice - even though he has nothing to say but “no” - he begins to consider things in particular. In the etymological sense, the rebel is a turncoat. He acted under the lash of his master’s whip. Suddenly he turns and faces him. He chooses what is preferable to what is not. Not every value leads to rebellion, but every act of rebellion tacitly invokes a value. Or is it really a question of values?
An awakening of conscience, no matter how confused it may be, develops from any act of rebellion and is represented by the sudden realization that something exists with which the rebel can identify himself – even if only for a moment. Up to now this identification was never fully realized. Previous to his insurrection, the slave accepted all the demands made upon him. He even very often took orders, without reacting against them, which were considerably more offensive to him than the one at which he balked. He was patient and though, perhaps, he protested inwardly, he was obviously more careful of his own rights. But with loss of patience – with impatience – begins a reaction which can extend to everything that he accepted up to this moment, and which is almost always retroactive. Immediately the slave refuses to obey the humiliating orders of his master, he rejects the condition of slavery. The act of rebellion carries him beyond the point he reached by simply refusing. What was, originally, an obstinate resistance on the part of the rebel, becomes the rebel personified. He proceeds to put self-respect above everything else and proclaims that it is preferable to lie itself. It becomes, for him, the supreme blessing. Having previously been willing to compromise, the slave suddenly adopts an attitude of All or Nothing. Knowledge is born and conscience awakened.
But it is obvious that the knowledge he gains is of an “All” that is still rather obscure and of a “Nothing” that proclaims the possibility of sacrificing the rebel to this “All.” The rebel himself wants to be “All” – to identify himself completely with this blessing of which he has suddenly become aware and of which he wishes to be recognized and proclaimed as the incarnation - or “Nothing” which means to be completely destroyed by the power that governs him. As a last resort, he is willing to accept the final defeat, which is death, rather than be deprived of the last sacrament which he would call, for example, freedom. Better to die on one’s feet than to live on one’s knees.»
(Marquês de Sade, imagem daqui)
Albert Camus, The Rebel:
«From rebellion, Sade can only deduce an absolute negative. Twenty-seven years in prison do not, in fact, produce a very conciliatory form of intelligence. Such a lengthy confinement makes a man either a weakling or a killer – or sometimes both. If the mind is strong enough to construct, in a prison cell, a moral philosophy which is not one of submission, it will generally be one of domination. Every ethic conceived in solitude implies the exercise of power. In this respect Sade is the archetype, for in so far as society treated him atrociously he responded in an atrocious fashion. (…)
He his exalted as the philosopher in chains and the first theoretician of absolute rebellion. He might well have been. In prison, dreams have no limits and reality is no curb. Intelligence in chains loses in lucidity what it gains in intensity. The only logic know to Sade was the logic of his feelings. He did not create a philosophy, he pursued a monstrous dream of revenge. Only the dream turned out to be prophetic. His desperate claim to freedom led Sade into the kingdom of servitude; his inordinate thirst for a form of life he could never attain was assuaged in the successive frenzies of a dream of universal destruction. In this way, at least, Sade is our contemporary.»