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sábado, 2 de junho de 2012

Os limites da ordem


Boaventura de Sousa Santos

As sociedades contemporâneas estão gerando um combustível altamente inflamável que flui nos subsolos da vida coletiva. Trata-se de um combustível constituído pela mistura de quatro componentes: a promoção conjunta da desigualdade social e do individualismo, a mercantilização da vida individual e coletiva, a prática do racismo em nome da tolerância e o sequestro da democracia por elites privilegiadas, com a consequente transformação da política na administração do roubo “legal” dos cidadãos e do mal estar que provoca.

Os violentos distúrbios ocorridos na Inglaterra não devem ser vistos como um fenômeno isolado. Eles representam um perturbador sinal dos tempos. Sem se dar conta, as sociedades contemporâneas estão gerando um combustível altamente inflamável que flui nos subsolos da vida coletiva. Quando chegam à superfície, podem provocar um incêndio social de proporções inimagináveis.

Trata-se de um combustível constituído pela mistura de quatro componentes: a promoção conjunta da desigualdade social e do individualismo, a mercantilização da vida individual e coletiva, a prática do racismo em nome da tolerância e o sequestro da democracia por elites privilegiadas, com a consequente transformação da política na administração do roubo “legal” dos cidadãos e do mal estar que provoca.

Cada um destes componentes têm uma contradição interna: quando se superpõem, qualquer incidente pode provocar uma explosão.

- Desigualdade e individualismo. Com o neoliberalismo, o aumento brutal da desigualdade social deixou de ser um problema para passar a ser uma solução. A ostentação dos ricos e dos multimilionários transformou-se na prova do êxito de um modelo social que só deixa miséria para a imensa maioria dos cidadãos, supostamente porque estes não esforçam o suficiente para ter sucesso na vida. Isso só foi possível com a conversão do individualismo em um valor absoluto, o qual, paradoxalmente, só pode ser experimentado como uma utopia da igualdade, a possibilidade de que todos prescindam igualmente da solidariedade social, seja como seus agentes, seja como seus beneficiários. Para o indivíduo assim concebido, a desigualdade unicamente é um problema quando ela é adversa a ele e, quando isso ocorre, nunca é reconhecida como merecida.

- Mercantilização da vida. A sociedade de consumo consiste na substituição das relações entre pessoas pelas relações entre pessoas e coisas. Os objetos de consumo deixam de satisfazer necessidades para criá-las incessantemente e o investimento pessoal neles é tão intenso quando se tem como quando não se tem. Os centros comerciais são a visão espectral de uma rede de relações sociais que começa e termina nos objetos. O capital, com sua sede infinita de lucros, submeteu à lógica mercantil bens que sempre pensamos que eram demasiado comuns (como a água e o ar) ou demasiado pessoais (a intimidade e as convicções políticas) para serem comercializados no mercado. Entre acreditar que o dinheiro media tudo e acreditar que se pode fazer tudo para obtê-lo há um passo muito menor do que se pensa. Os poderosos dão esse passo todos os dias sem que nada ocorra a eles. Os despossuídos, que pensam que podem fazer o mesmo, terminam nas prisões.

- O racismo da tolerância. Os distúrbios na Inglaterra começaram com uma dimensão racial. O mesmo ocorreu em 1981 e nos distúrbios que sacudiram a França em 2005. Não é uma coincidência: são irrupções da sociabilidade colonial que continua dominando nossas sociedades, décadas depois do fim do colonialismo político. O racismo é apenas um componente, já que em todos os distúrbios mencionados participaram jovens de diversos grupos étnicos. Mas é importante, porque reúne a exclusão social com um elemento de insondável corrosão da autoestima, a inferioridade do ser agravada pela inferioridade do ter. Em nossas cidades, um jovem negro vive cotidianamente sob uma suspeita social que existe independentemente do que ele ou ela seja ou faça. E esta suspeita é muito mais virulenta quando se produz em uma sociedade distraída pelas políticas oficiais de luta contra a discriminação e pela fachada do multiculturalismo e da benevolência da tolerância.

- O sequestro da democracia. O que há em comum entre os distúrbios na Inglaterra e a destruição do bem estar dos cidadãos provocada pelas políticas de austeridade dirigidas pelas agências classificadoras e os mercados financeiros? Ambos são sinais das extremas limitações da ordem democrática. Os jovens rebeldes cometeram delitos, mas não estamos frente a uma “pura e simples” delinquência, como afirmou o primeiro ministro David Cameron. Estamos frente a uma denúncia política violenta de um modelo social e político que tem recursos para resgatar os bancos, mas não para resgatar os jovens de uma vida de espera sem esperança, do pesadelo de uma educação cada vez mais cara e irrelevante dado o aumento do desemprego, do completo abandono em comunidades que as políticas públicas antissociais transformaram em campos de treinamento da raiva, da anomia e da rebelião.

Entre o poder neoliberal instalado e os rebeldes urbanos há uma simetria perturbadora. A indiferença social, a arrogância, a distribuição injusta dos sacrifícios estão semeando o caos, a violência e o medo, e aqueles que estão realizando essa semeadura vão dizer amanhã, genuinamente ofendidos, que o que eles semearam nada tinha a ver com o caos, a violência e o medo instalados nas ruas de nossas cidades. Os que promovem a desordem estão no poder e poderiam ser imitados por aqueles que não têm poder para colocá-los em ordem.

(*) Doutor em Sociologia do Direito; professor nas universidades de Coimbra (Portugal) e Wisconsin (EUA).

(**) Traduzido por Katarina Peixoto da versão em espanhol publicada no jornal Página/12

http://www.cartamaior.com.br/templates/materiaMostrar.cfm?materia_id=18278

então, pedalemos ... !!!


"A vida é como andar de bicicleta, para se ter equilíbrio é necessário estar em movimento..."
( Albert Einstein )
 

Vá Tomar - Tom Zé - [14.06.2010]



Vá Tomar

Tom Zé

Meta sua grandeza
no banco da esquina,
vá tomar no verbo
seu filho da letra
meta sua usura
na multinacional
vá tomar na virgem
seu filho da cruz.
Meta sua moral,
regras e regulamentos
escritórios e gravatas
sua sessão solene.
Pegue e junte tudo
passe brilhantina
enfie, soque, meta
no tanque de gasolina

Photo of "napalm girl" from Vietnam War turns 40

 


TRANG BANG, Vietnam (AP) — In the picture, the girl will always be 9 years old and wailing "Too hot! Too hot!" as she runs down the road away from her burning Vietnamese village.
She will always be naked after blobs of sticky napalm melted through her clothes and layers of skin like jellied lava.
She will always be a victim without a name.
It only took a second for Associated Press photographer Huynh Cong "Nick" Ut to snap the iconic black-and-white image 40 years ago. It communicated the horrors of the Vietnam War in a way words could never describe, helping to end one of the most divisive wars in American history.
But beneath the photo lies a lesser-known story. It's the tale of a dying child brought together by chance with a young photographer. A moment captured in the chaos of war that would be both her savior and her curse on a journey to understand life's plan for her.
"I really wanted to escape from that little girl," says Kim Phuc, now 49. "But it seems to me that the picture didn't let me go."
____
It was June 8, 1972, when Phuc heard the soldier's scream: "We have to run out of this place! They will bomb here, and we will be dead!"
Seconds later, she saw the tails of yellow and purple smoke bombs curling around the Cao Dai temple where her family had sheltered for three days, as north and south Vietnamese forces fought for control of their village.
The little girl heard a roar overhead and twisted her neck to look up. As the South Vietnamese Skyraider plane grew fatter and louder, it swooped down toward her, dropping canisters like tumbling eggs flipping end over end.
"Ba-boom! Ba-boom!"
The ground rocked. Then the heat of a hundred furnaces exploded as orange flames spit in all directions.
Fire danced up Phuc's left arm. The threads of her cotton clothes evaporated on contact. Trees became angry torches. Searing pain bit through skin and muscle.
"I will be ugly, and I'm not normal anymore," she thought, as her right hand brushed furiously across her blistering arm. "People will see me in a different way."
In shock, she sprinted down Highway 1 behind her older brother. She didn't see the foreign journalists gathered as she ran toward them, screaming.
Then, she lost consciousness.
___
Ut, the 21-year-old Vietnamese photographer who took the picture, drove Phuc to a small hospital. There, he was told the child was too far gone to help. But he flashed his American press badge, demanded that doctors treat the girl and left assured that she would not be forgotten.
"I cried when I saw her running," said Ut, whose older brother was killed on assignment with the AP in the southern Mekong Delta. "If I don't help her — if something happened and she died — I think I'd kill myself after that."
Back at the office in what was then U.S.-backed Saigon, he developed his film. When the image of the naked little girl emerged, everyone feared it would be rejected because of the news agency's strict policy against nudity.
But veteran Vietnam photo editor Horst Faas took one look and knew it was a shot made to break the rules. He argued the photo's news value far outweighed any other concerns, and he won.
A couple of days after the image shocked the world, another journalist found out the little girl had somehow survived the attack. Christopher Wain, a correspondent for the British Independent Television Network who had given Phuc water from his canteen and drizzled it down her burning back at the scene, fought to have her transferred to the American-run Barsky unit. It was the only facility in Saigon equipped to deal with her severe injuries.
"I had no idea where I was or what happened to me," she said. "I woke up and I was in the hospital with so much pain, and then the nurses were around me. I woke up with a terrible fear."
Thirty percent of Phuc's tiny body was scorched raw by third-degree burns, though her face somehow remained untouched. Over time, her melted flesh began to heal.
"Every morning at 8 o'clock, the nurses put me in the burn bath to cut all my dead skin off," she said. "I just cried and when I could not stand it any longer, I just passed out."
After multiple skin grafts and surgeries, Phuc was finally allowed to leave, 13 months after the bombing. She had seen Ut's photo, which by then had won the Pulitzer Prize, but she was still unaware of its reach and power.
She just wanted to go home and be a child again.
___
For a while, life did go somewhat back to normal. The photo was famous, but Phuc largely remained unknown except to those living in her tiny village near the Cambodian border. Ut and a few other journalists sometimes visited her, but that stopped after northern communist forces seized control of South Vietnam on April 30, 1975, ending the war.
Life under the new regime became tough. Medical treatment and painkillers were expensive and hard to find for the teenager, who still suffered extreme headaches and pain.
She worked hard and was accepted into medical school to pursue her dream of becoming a doctor. But all that ended once the new communist leaders realized the propaganda value of the 'napalm girl' in the photo.
She was forced to quit college and return to her home province, where she was trotted out to meet foreign journalists. The visits were monitored and controlled, her words scripted. She smiled and played her role, but the rage inside began to build and consume her.
"I wanted to escape that picture," she said. "I got burned by napalm, and I became a victim of war ... but growing up then, I became another kind of victim."
She turned to Cao Dai, her Vietnamese religion, for answers. But they didn't come.
"My heart was exactly like a black coffee cup," she said. "I wished I died in that attack with my cousin, with my south Vietnamese soldiers. I wish I died at that time so I won't suffer like that anymore ... it was so hard for me to carry all that burden with that hatred, with that anger and bitterness."
One day, while visiting a library, Phuc found a Bible. For the first time, she started believing her life had a plan.
Then suddenly, once again, the photo that had given her unwanted fame brought opportunity.
She traveled to West Germany in 1982 for medical care with the help of a foreign journalist. Later, Vietnam's prime minister, also touched by her story, made arrangements for her to study in Cuba.
She was finally free from the minders and reporters hounding her at home, but her life was far from normal. Ut, then working at the AP in Los Angeles, traveled to meet her in 1989, but they never had a moment alone. There was no way for him to know she desperately wanted his help again.
"I knew in my dream that one day Uncle Ut could help me to have freedom," said Phuc, referring to him by an affectionate Vietnamese term. "But I was in Cuba. I was really disappointed because I couldn't contact with him. I couldn't do anything."
___
While at school, Phuc met a young Vietnamese man. She had never believed anyone would ever want her because of the ugly patchwork of scars that banded across her back and pitted her arm, but Bui Huy Toan seemed to love her more because of them.
The two decided to marry in 1992 and honeymoon in Moscow. On the flight back to Cuba, the newlyweds defected during a refueling stop in Canada. She was free.
Phuc contacted Ut to share the news, and he encouraged her to tell her story to the world. But she was done giving interviews and posing for photos.
"I have a husband and a new life and want to be normal like everyone else," she said.
The media eventually found Phuc living near Toronto, and she decided she needed to take control of her story. A book was written in 1999 and a documentary came out, at last the way she wanted it told. She was asked to become a U.N. Goodwill Ambassador to help victims of war. She and Ut have since reunited many times to tell their story, even traveling to London to meet the Queen.
"Today, I'm so happy I helped Kim," said Ut, who still works for AP and recently returned to Trang Bang village. "I call her my daughter."
After four decades, Phuc, now a mother of two sons, can finally look at the picture of herself running naked and understand why it remains so powerful. It had saved her, tested her and ultimately freed her.
"Most of the people, they know my picture but there's very few that know about my life," she said. "I'm so thankful that ... I can accept the picture as a powerful gift. Then it is my choice. Then I can work with it for peace."
___
Online:
http://www.kimfoundation.com