By José Gandue @spinning zone
“These ferocious delights have even more brutal ends; they destroy themselves in their own explosion, like gunpowder and flame meeting: one kiss and they leave only ash.”
Romeo & Juliet, Act 2, Scene 5.
William Shakespeare
I see a cartoon. A woman asks two men their political opinions. The first tells her he's racist, xenophobic, antifeminist, and antisemitic. The second declares himself to be the exact opposite. She concludes: "What a strange combination of extremes." And just like that, being antifascist becomes as suspect as fervently following the new Mussolinis of our time.
We live in times when it has become normal to shout “communists,” “terrorists,” or “radical socialists” at those who oppose the violent rhetoric of tyrants. These are times when those in power feel they have absolute authority, as if the vote were a blank check that empowers them to fulfill their darkest desires.
Some build impenetrable prisons and share them with other despots on the continent to imprison enemies. Others talk about “gender ideology” while relentlessly persecuting sexual dissidents. Some advocate banning "subversive" books in schools -as Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley, or, who knows why, One Hundred Years of Solitude, —by Gabriel García Márquez—; others deny history and seek to erase the past of slavery and inequality, cutting back museums and memorial centers. And yet they are the ones who hurl insults.
Times (in music) have gotten worse.
A fact that only serves to provoke a bitter laugh: the tyrants of the past, at least in their aristocratic pretensions, listened to complex music. Hitler admired Wagner, Mussolini Italian opera, Stalin enjoyed Mozart. Today, Trump has turned a song born of gay rebellion into an anthem without understanding it, while waving his hands in a grotesque dance that his followers imitate. Milei, dreaming of being a rock star, butchers songs by Charly García and La Renga in front of a mob of little fanatics who understand nothing.
Meanwhile, on the other side, amidst the confusion and discontent, there are those who raise their voices—fortunately, increasingly so—and are labeled seditious, conspirators, enemies of order. And so many others, paralyzed, prefer to play it safe, repeating that “both extremes are the same.” That's how efficient the machine is.
Don't insist, ma'am, that doesn't exist.
What they call “Antifa” doesn't exist as a global monster. Yes, there are political groups that oppose authoritarian ideas, but there isn't a gigantic conspiracy plotting revolutions from the shadows. The theory of the two demons never had the validity that extremists want to impose. We cannot let ourselves be intimidated by lies or by the desire for extermination.
So, if Antifa doesn't exist, what do we do? I—who have no certainty about anything—propose the following: resist democratically, vote (if possible) against despots, stand in solidarity with the most vulnerable, respect others without losing the capacity to dissent and empathize, act collectively, and (allow me this melodic closing), listen to the best possible music to inspire us for what's to come. Being, as they would say, "on the other side," is much more dignified. Don't you think?
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Let's celebrate with music. Let's get into punk mode and listen to the new album by the Uruguayan band Jesús Negro y los putos, called Cementerio Fe (we've gone off the rails, hehehehe).
