Home » FREE LIE IN FREE WAR— — While there are those who live to kill and those who die for freedom, as those who refuse life for it know

FREE LIE IN FREE WAR— — While there are those who live to kill and those who die for freedom, as those who refuse life for it know

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FREE LIE IN FREE WAR— — While there are those who live to kill and those who die for freedom, as those who refuse life for it know

Byoblu-Mondocane 3/16 broadcast on Sunday 9.30pm. Repeats Monday 9.30am, Tuesday 11.00am, Wednesday 10.30pm, Thursday 10.00am, Saturday 4.30pm, Sunday 9.00am

In the title, I took the liberty of paraphrasing, to the point of changing the reference but not the meaning, Dante’s verse on Cato’s sacrifice for the freedom stolen by Caesar. Reference changed up to a certain point, however, given that the US Air Force airman killed himself precisely for the freedom of life of the Palestinian people, allowing himself to be freed and purified by the fire of his involuntary, but suffered, complicity with evil.

I don’t like using the term heart, for that sugary and insipid stuff that has been made of this muscle in the thousand and thousand songs that poison us from Sanremo and from all the easy and hypocritical literary, cinematographic or verbal sentimentalism. So she has become annoying, even and above all and not for a long time, the word love and, to be honest, the triad, abused like no other ever, of heart love pain. Keep away! It is the abuse of certain elements of language, although intact at birth, that degrades them to the point of emptying them of meaning. Or to reverse it. Think about what was made of “Bella ciao”…

But that choice, that determined, inexorable, almost triumphal walk of Aaron Bushnell (a Jew!) towards the enemy to be morally incinerated, worse than how he incinerated his body, an instrument of liberation, entered me and will remain there until I will be able to repeat to the world that in the end, next and beyond and above and forever, it is the heroes who bury the dragons. Otherwise we wouldn’t even be here anymore, after 200,000 years of confrontation with anti-life drugs.

While walking, this twenty-year-old boy, along a few meters of an ordinary street that looked like the Imperial Forums, then with a can and a lighter in his hand and the flames on him, he said words that should strike us as if we were under the bells of Giotto’s bell tower at midday. So much so that it vibrates like violin strings when you think about it, and always think about it, for the rest of your life. And until the last day of the Zionist-American aberration and the first day, at least, of free, sovereign, peaceful Palestine. And if it seems rhetorical to you, too bad for you.

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He told us, Aaron, who he was and, as a soldier of the apparatus of death to which he would set fire with his own body, what this supreme and definitive identity of his meant, in the moment in which, with his uniform on fire, he it would be launched against that apparatus with the force of a nuclear device.

Have you seen the pack of journalistic service providers? A little paragraph here and there. Pitch dark on TV. Dead silence among the living dead of politics. Grieved by terror at seeing themselves reflected, finally real, in that fire as in a mirror, they rush to dope themselves with lies (“October 7th, the terrorists, blah blah blah…”) and to dope with silence a world that had discovered them to stoke those flames. Think of the comparison between the pages and the screens on Navalny, the omnipartisan torchlight processions and the sold-out of parliaments and the highest institutions, and you will have an idea of ​​the panic that this boy has caused.

In Israel Netaniahu, his Nazi henchmen and the 82% of the population who approve of their actions have stuck their heads in the sand so they can think they don’t know, that they don’t see. At least it’s the sand down there that prevents him from continuing to utter slanders such as “he was a disturbed boy… he had shown signs of imbalance in the past…”. Infamies like those with which they continue to keep up the “October 7” lie, within which 2.3 million Palestinians will be suffocated.

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If we didn’t realize it, it’s our fault. Closing his life in a gesture of the epochal end of the world-beginning of the new one and in a cry, “Free Palestine”, in which he committed, to the point of utter death rattle, in unimaginable suffering, the last of his breaths, Aaron has ensured victory for the Palestinians and, for us, a path to salvation. And Bertold Brecht must be corrected: happy is the Earth that produces such heroes. Happy is humanity that receives the gift. Israel, which existed despite almost centuries-old turpitude, exists on paper and in bombs. In non-fictional reality he is dead and buried. The resurrections, in that land, concern other subjects.

I say this because we’ve already seen it. It will take time, less and less, today we are going faster, but it will happen this time too.

On December 1, 2023, an unidentified woman, wrapped in a Palestinian flag, set herself on fire outside the Israeli consulate in Atlanta. Authorities refused to reveal his name

June 1963, in Saigon the Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc burned himself alive in protest against the persecutions of the pro-US regime of the Catholic dictator Diem. The regime falls after a few months.

Five US citizens sacrifice themselves by fire against US wars. Alice Herz, 82 years old, March 16, 1965, in Detroit “against the war on Vietnam”; Norman Morrison, 31, father of three children, November 2, 1965, sets himself on fire in front of the Pentagon, “against the use of napalm which burns people alive”; Roger LaPorte, 22 years old, worker, 9 November 1965, set himself on fire in United Nations Square in New York, “against all wars”. Florence Beaumont, 56 years old, mother of two children, burned herself alive on 15 October 1967 in front of the Federal Building in Los Angeles, “against the massacres in Vietnam”; George Winne, 23, son of a Navy Captain, May 10, 1970, sets himself on fire at the University of San Diego, California, next to this sign: “In the name of God, end this war.”

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Six days earlier the Ohio National Guard had strafed a protest at the University of Kent, killing 4 students and wounding 9. It was, in the United States, the largest protest ever seen in the history of American universities. And it was the beginning of the end of the Yankee war.

I saw the plaque dedicated to those five American citizens in the headquarters of the Vietnam-USA Friendship Association. Every Vietnamese schoolboy learns a song written by the poet To Huu, entitled “Emily, my child”, dedicated to the little daughter that Norman Morrison kept by the hand moments before sacrificing himself in front of the Pentagon. Airman Aaron was too young to have children. He himself was a son of this America. The song he wrote with her body he dedicated to her.

What happened in Indochina and in the world, shortly after the sacrifice of these 5 American lay saints, confirms that also for Palestine, for all of us “Palestinians, Vietnamese, Libyans, Syrians, Iraqis, Yemenis, Afghans, Russians of Donbass , Serbs from Kosovo, Africans from the Sahel and Somalia” and even people without a minimum wage and people with their heads smashed by the gendarmes, victory is approaching.

Other parts of this Mondocane talk about less relevant things. Like: for who is it because the beatings of boys for Palestine; or how you starve to death an entire population whose throats you haven’t managed to cut.

Even without the NATO nibble, Melonian and fascist Italy is forced to enter the war alongside Kiev (and still no one has set themselves on fire, or has set fire…)-

Russian voices? Even a movie! Anathema! Call Piantedosi and his rottweilers. Film about Navalny? We wish we were at the Elevation in San Pietro.

Journalism: how we were, how we are.

And another really relevant thing: WHO and the Pandemic Plan to make us end up like the Palestinians, sweetly.

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