«Dir-se-á que se não podem fazer comparações entre um rio e uma estrada, porque as estradas pertencem à história e os rios à geografia. E depois? A história também não são os homens que a fazem: os homens submetem-se à história como se submetem à geografia.
Procurando corrigir a geografia, furando montanhas e desviando rios, tentam convencer-se de que imprimem novo rumo à história; afinal, não modificam mesmo nada, pois um belo dia tudo se vai de roldão: as águas engolem as pontes, quebram os diques, tornam a encher as minas; vão abaixo as casas, os palácios, as choupanas; a erva cresce nos escombros; e tudo volta à terra de onde veio. E os sobreviventes terão de combater as feras à pedrada e a história recomeçará: a história do costume. »
«Havia no seu pragmatismo calculista qualquer coisa que me deixava completamente insatisfeito; mas quem era eu para julgá-los? A minha rejeição de Meto, quando me sentira traído e defraudado por ele, só me tinha trazido infelicidade, e acabara por ser eu a retractar-me, como se a culpa fosse minha. Enquanto a coisas corressem com relativa tranquilidade, não seria mais sensato fechar os olhos a traições, mentiras e desapontamentos menores, e seguir o curso da nossa vida? Que ventura resultou alguma vez da declaração de ultimatos e do julgamento das escolhas e acções dos outros? Daí que aprendamos a ceder uns perante os outros, bem como perante as nossas próprias expectativas, coagidos pelas exigências de um mundo imperfeito.»
Na minha página pessoal publiquei hoje um pequeno texto sobre o tão falado Tratado da União. Aqui fica o inicio.
Os líderes europeus chegaram, esta semana, a acordo sobre o conteúdo do nosso tratado da União. Ora bem, a questão do acordo entre as elites politicas dos estados está resolvido. Falta agora definir a forma como, dentro de cada nação, este tratado será legitimado. Com referendo ou pelos parlamentos nacionais. Esta é agora a questão capital. E não se trata aqui de discutir se o parlamento tem, ou não, legitimidade para o fazer. Trata-se antes de mais de reflectir se queremos deixar os cidadãos de fora duma decisão que vai condicionar as suas vidas no futuro. Claro que o parlamento tem legitimidade para isto, mas também a tinha para as matérias da regionalização e da lei do aborto (IVG) e, no entanto, elas foram referendadas. (Continuar a ler)
A música não tem sempre de ser vazia de significância, nem redonda na sua narrativa poética. Algumas há que contam belas histórias, cheias duma simplicidade arrepiante.
My name is Luka I live on the second floor I live upstairs from you Yes I think you've seen me before
If you hear something late at night Some kind of trouble. some kind of fight Just don't ask me what it was Just don't ask me what it was Just don't ask me what it was
I think it's because I'm clumsy I try not to talk too loud Maybe it's because I'm crazy I try not to act too proud
They only hit until you cry And after that you don't ask why You just don't argue anymore You just don't argue anymore You just don't argue anymore
Yes I think I'm okay I walked into the door again Well, if you ask that's what I'll say And it's not your business anyway I guess I'd like to be alone With nothing broken, nothing thrown
Apesar de todo o trabalho da administração Bush e dos seus lacaios para menosprezar as questões associadas às alterações climáticas, a Academia de Estocolmo veio hoje reconhecer este problema com a atribuição deste prémio.
Não tenho nenhuma estima especial por qualquer político norte-americano, no entanto reconheço que Al Gore tem aproveitado bem o seu tempo e a sua imagem no combate a este problema. Se conseguir ter algum sucesso nesta luta, então a humanidade ficará com uma divida de gratidão maior com este ex-politico do que com qualquer outro governante daquele país.
The Hurricane! Ou como o Sistema Judicial pode ser dramaticamente perverso. Para Ruben Hurricane Carter foram mais de 20 anos na prisão por um crime não cometido. Vale a pena ver e escutar uma das suas entrevistas feitas após a sua libertação. E depois escutar o que Bob Dylan cantou sobre ele.
THE HURRICANE (BOB dYLAN)
Pistol shots ring out in the barroom night Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall. She sees the bartender in a pool of blood, Cries out, "My God, they killed them all!" Here comes the story of the Hurricane, The man the authorities came to blame For somethin' that he never done. Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been The champion of the world.
Three bodies lyin' there does Patty see And another man named Bello, movin' around mysteriously. "I didn't do it," he says, and he throws up his hands "I was only robbin' the register, I hope you understand. I saw them leavin'," he says, and he stops "One of us had better call up the cops." And so Patty calls the cops And they arrive on the scene with their red lights flashin' In the hot New Jersey night.
Meanwhile, far away in another part of town Rubin Carter and a couple of friends are drivin' around. Number one contender for the middleweight crown Had no idea what kinda shit was about to go down When a cop pulled him over to the side of the road Just like the time before and the time before that. In Paterson that's just the way things go. If you're black you might as well not show up on the street 'Less you wanna draw the heat.
Alfred Bello had a partner and he had a rap for the cops. Him and Arthur Dexter Bradley were just out prowlin' around He said, "I saw two men runnin' out, they looked like middleweights They jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates." And Miss Patty Valentine just nodded her head. Cop said, "Wait a minute, boys, this one's not dead" So they took him to the infirmary And though this man could hardly see They told him that he could identify the guilty men.
Four in the mornin' and they haul Rubin in, Take him to the hospital and they bring him upstairs. The wounded man looks up through his one dyin' eye Says, "Wha'd you bring him in here for? He ain't the guy!" Yes, here's the story of the Hurricane, The man the authorities came to blame For somethin' that he never done. Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been The champion of the world.
Four months later, the ghettos are in flame, Rubin's in South America, fightin' for his name While Arthur Dexter Bradley's still in the robbery game And the cops are puttin' the screws to him, lookin' for somebody to blame. "Remember that murder that happened in a bar?" "Remember you said you saw the getaway car?" "You think you'd like to play ball with the law?" "Think it might-a been that fighter that you saw runnin' that night?" "Don't forget that you are white."
Arthur Dexter Bradley said, "I'm really not sure." Cops said, "A poor boy like you could use a break We got you for the motel job and we're talkin' to your friend Bello Now you don't wanta have to go back to jail, be a nice fellow. You'll be doin' society a favor. That sonofabitch is brave and gettin' braver. We want to put his ass in stir We want to pin this triple murder on him He ain't no Gentleman Jim."
Rubin could take a man out with just one punch But he never did like to talk about it all that much. It's my work, he'd say, and I do it for pay And when it's over I'd just as soon go on my way Up to some paradise Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice And ride a horse along a trail. But then they took him to the jailhouse Where they try to turn a man into a mouse.
All of Rubin's cards were marked in advance The trial was a pig-circus, he never had a chance. The judge made Rubin's witnesses drunkards from the slums To the white folks who watched he was a revolutionary bum And to the black folks he was just a crazy nigger. No one doubted that he pulled the trigger. And though they could not produce the gun, The D.A. said he was the one who did the deed And the all-white jury agreed.
Rubin Carter was falsely tried. The crime was murder "one," guess who testified? Bello and Bradley and they both baldly lied And the newspapers, they all went along for the ride. How can the life of such a man Be in the palm of some fool's hand? To see him obviously framed Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land Where justice is a game.
Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise While Rubin sits like Buddha in a ten-foot cell An innocent man in a living hell. That's the story of the Hurricane, But it won't be over till they clear his name And give him back the time he's done. Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been The champion of the world. (In Página de Bob Dylan)
Esta agência ainda é jovem, mas já vale o seu peso em ouro. Finalmente uma entidade que não brinca em serviço, sem olhar aos nomes dos seus alvos, sempre na defesa desse bem supremo que é a segurança e qualidade do bem público (e por isso de cada um de nós também).
Doa a quem doer, gabo-lhes a coragem e reconheço que por estes dias me sinto mais seguro enquanto cidadão consumidor.