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The temper of a leader

by admin

I watched twice the video in which Beppe Grillo punches the table to claim the innocence of his son Ciro, accused of rape and suspended for two years in terror of arrest and trial. The first time I sensed the desperation of a clouded father, but the second time the despair seemed to me to go sideways to leave the first floor to all the wrong in the world. There was nothing forgivable about that video. There was no desolation, no painful words for a girl, raped or not a judge will decide, but in the best of cases ended up at the neck of the bottle and in the hands of four wretches. There was not the glimmer of a thought, only the heavy outlet of a man who spends his life trying to deliver strength with screams and fuck off his cheap prejudices.

There was no amazement at the deception and self-deception of having signed up among the good guys against the bad ones and then suddenly found themselves on the other side. There was not the slightest banal doubt that what happens to his son happens to a hundred others every day, and that slowness, uncertainty and that is the arbitrariness of justice are the Italian disaster, not those nonsense of caste and white-collar workers for whom his movement has obtained the end of the statute of limitations, and it will be the thousandth injustice with which the table of the dispossessed will be prepared, as it always has been. There was nothing merciful, nothing poignant, neither true nor alive, there was the angry roar of an insolent person worried only by the surroundings of his navel, because that is his temper as a leader.

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