To the comrades
Nothing will ever be the same as before
We receive these words, which we make our own:
They decided to kill Alfredo with the coldness of executioners. Democracy is simply this: inquests, media spectacles, death sentences.
If all this had passed in silence or in the ruthless dehumanized staging of the opinion makers of the day, it would have been grave and unforgivable. But that was not what happened. In all these months, and well before, the molecules of this heterogeneous anarchist body have never stopped, despite the weight that was already bearing down on many of them. But that’s the way of things.
These seconds and minutes following the death sentence passed by the Supreme Court against Alfredo are interminable. But pain is different from surprise. We feel pain now, tremendous pain. But not surprise. And the pain that permeates our every cell is piercing, total.
Total pain.
Who can now feel that tomorrow will be a day they could already have imagined? For months we have been sounding out hypotheses, scenarios, possibilities, but who really had a clear idea of what they would feel?
Nothing will ever be the same again.
In the face of all this, the silence created by such raw clarity almost clouds the mind, overwhelms everything. It is right that we shed tears, it is human that we clench each other and take time to let go of the tension that has been mounting for months.
We need time for the pain because, if nothing will ever be the same again, tomorrow’s lucidity will have to be greater than yesterday’s.