Today, I don't feel like writing
Today, I don’t feel like writing.
You know exactly why.
Paris, yesterday night, you think well, but not enough.
There are so many other things, and the first of all, the most important, the most solemn, the most fulgurating thing, the most poignante, the most heavy and sharp, is that nothing has changed since yesterday.
Candles? Such a good idea! But most of us already did that before, because candles are cute inside a apartment, and they smell good. It’s a good idea, but not enough.
Sadness and mourning? Such a good idea! but most of us have already done it before, already lived through it before. Mourning is a normal process during the existence, the action of the mind that accept that the world is changing, because someone is not there anymore. As Derrida wrote, then the mourning succeeds, it’s when we accepts that the other was truly someone else and we forget him, « something of a gentle rejection, a renouncing move that lets him alone, outside, there, in death, away from us », and this is what we are doing it everyday. Everyday we mourn the other, because everyday, people die.
But today is special, because death didn’t come, it was called upon one hundred and twenty eight people! one hundred and twenty eight people!
This is not special.
It happens everyday in Middle-East.
Everyday, dozens of people die during attacks like this, during civil wars, during starvations that induced because wars. On November the twelfth, two days ago, the day before Paris, forty-three people died in Lebanon during a suicidal attack. Have we made of this event a common, global cause?
No « Because this came from inside » some people would say.
« Send them go home » say other people, right now.
This is not true.
This is not from their home.
This is from us.
This is from the human race.
In the United States, eight thousand and twenty seven people died since January the first of this year from firearm. It amounts to twenty five people per day.
Twenty five people per day, inside the so-called most democratic nation in the world.
For the exact same reason.
The issue comes from the human race.
But the human race is not the issue.
The problem is how human beings are educated.
The problem is how some of them use the present and the past.
It is how some people talk about it and change the world.
I am speaking about the lunatics who indoctrinate those human beings and make them act this way.
I am talking about structures who enable them to talk the way they talk, who give them proofs, however small they are, to rally human beings to their selfish cause.
The issue is not those suicidal people, the issue is the things who lead these people to think and act suicidally and, before their own death, to drag others to their death
The issue is the poverty, the absence of education, the weakness of the mind in front of madness and the denial of others and oneself.
The issue is the thing inside all of us, the thing that in their case turned into anger and made them forget what they are and what others are, what made them insist on one specific word : different.
And the issue is that this word is spreading on ‘our’ side too. Because they come from another country, because they are not like us, we object when they want to escape something we condemn, we object when they try to live the life we have for ourselves, because they are different.
What happens in their country is identical to what happens at home. But we don’t feel concerned. This is different.
This is not different.
This is the exact same thing.
They are the exact same people who died yesterday, the day before yesterday and may die tomorrow. And those people are the exact same people who killed and will kill.
They all are human beings…
who once were children who wanted to know and wanted to play.
Exactly like those who seek asylum and those offended by what happened yesterday, and the day before yesterday, and will happen tomorrow.
Just like you.
This is the reason why I don’t want to write today.