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anbuccbrow-blog · 5 years

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La libertad es peligrosa

Tuve que hacer un discurso para el colegio el 24 de Marzo. Somos libres, a medias quizás, pero tenemos que aprovecharlo. Quizás alguien se sienta empoderadx por esto.

La libertad es peligrosa. Esto es lo que pensaba antes de buscar un par de casos de represión dictatorial. Nada muy interesante: chicos de nuestra edad torturados en fosas, las chicas violadas, por expresar disconformidad hacia el aumento del boleto estudiantil. Las víctimas compartían ciertos rasgos en común: un sentimiento de reivindicación, de justicia. Imagínense que de un día para el otro desaparece el votado mejor compañero del curso. O el líder del equipo de fútbol local. O una compañera que también cursa para entrar en Bellas Artes. Les dicen en el colegio que se cambiaron, que los expulsaron, que se mudaron. Y en la documentación, años más tarde, la causa de muerte figura como “desconocida”.

Los seis alumnos documentados que fueron secuestrados el 16 de Septiembre de 1976 por solicitar viajes en colectivo gratis fueron detenidos en el Pozo de Banfield. 244 vidas más perecieron en dicha instalación. Ya desde antes, durante la dictadura militar liderada por Onganía en 1966, el sector estudiantil se había tornado un blanco recurrente para la represión. A través de la ley 16.912, por ejemplo, el gobierno había eliminado la autonomía universitaria, clausurando las Asambleas (comparables al centro de estudiantes de una secundaria) y había reprimido a quienes reclamaban con la consigna “más presupuesto universitario y menos presupuesto militar” porque dicha disconformidad escondía al enemigo interno: el comunismo. Desde entonces, tanto grupos oficiales como paramilitares persiguieron no solo movimientos guerrilleros, sino también manifestantes pacíficos, como los de la Federación Universitaria Argentina, o los adherentes al Frente Justicialista de Liberación.

Para 1983, el 21% de los desaparecidos a nivel nacional eran estudiantes universitarios. En Córdoba, este porcentaje se dispara al 31% . Se registran 737 estudiantes desaparecidos en tan solo 5 facultades, que incluyen las de Filosofía y Letras, de Economía y de Arquitectura.

Pensemos por otro lado en una madre que pierde a todos sus hijos en base a su pasada afiliación a una guerrilla marxista-trotskista. Agregamos anecdóticamente que una de las hijas y la esposa de uno de los hermanos estaban embarazadas, y en el Hospital Militar de Campo de Mayo debieron dar a luz forzadamente a través de cesáreas. En Campo de Mayo se estima que reprimieron 5000 personas, de las cuales solamente 43 sobrevivieron.

Imaginen también que esa madre muere sin saber qué ocurrió con sus chicos. E imaginen a las madres que corren la misma suerte que Azucena Villaflor, quien congregada en la Iglesia de la Santa Cruz porque la Plaza de Mayo ya no era segura, fue secuestrada y desaparecida por luchar por la aparición de su hijo. No había ni un rincón donde estuvieras a salvo.

Uno puede seguir pensando que la libertad es una facultad excesiva, que va a llevar al desorden social, al quiebre de las reglas, al desarme de lo establecido. ¿Quién dijo que no es así? Fue justamente aquel “aterrorizante peligro de la libertad” lo que buscaron impedir los dirigentes de las fuerzas armadas, en complicidad con las aspiraciones neoliberales de Inglaterra y Estados Unidos, hace exactamente 43 años. Casi una década de ferviente odio a comunistas y socialistas, bajo cuya nomenclatura cayó gente que ni siquiera se vinculaba con estas ideologías, pero aquello le era útil al régimen. Incluso hoy en día, creo que los que quitan las cadenas perpetuas porque piensan que “ya pasó” esconden un latente recelo hacia la libertad.

En un momento histórico cuando sabemos las consecuencias nefastas de la censura, ¿cómo pretendemos silenciar los ideales diferentes a los nuestros? No se silencian los ideales. Se vencen. Se contradicen y se refutan con la verdad. Y como dijo Nelson Mandela, quien recurrió a la violencia para desarmar el sistema de discriminación racial del Apartheid, igual que los progenitores de nuestra querida república, el arma más poderosa que puedes usar para cambiar el mundo es la educación. Aquí llegamos a una contradicción, que es qué legitima el uso de la fuerza. ¿Por qué el gobierno militar no habría de reprimir a los montoneros, que recurrían al secuestro de personalidades políticas y sindicales? Los Estados totalitarios no tienen la facultad legítima del uso del monopolio de la fuerza, porque le han usurpado al pueblo los derechos a un juicio justo. ¿Acaso pretendemos del Estado una institución barbárica dedicada a la tortura y la manutención de su agenda arbitraria? ¿Vamos a ignorar que clausuraron el Estado de Derecho, desmembrándolo de órgano legislativo y judicial?

La mismísima figura del Estado de Derecho buscaba ser borrada de la conciencia de los estudiantes. Un aspecto destacable de la dictadura fue la censura, que buscaba deshacerse de cualquier comportamiento o pista de oposición a la autoridad, es decir frenar la subversión. Esto incluía libros para infantes, como Un elefante ocupa mucho espacio, cuya trama trata sobre los animales de un circo emancipándose de sus domadores y encerrándolos a ellos como animales de exhibición. Aunque nos parezca inverosímil censurar libros para chicos, situémonos en la situación de la época. Los libros prohibidos apelaban al cuestionamiento del mandato injustificado. Al pensamiento individual. ¿Acaso el peligro a la comunidad recae en la promoción de la libertad? Tantos derechos nos ha garantizado la protesta de nuestros ancestros: las chicas podemos ir a la escuela, nuestros padres y madres tienen indemnización laboral y vacaciones pagas, podemos casarnos y formar una familia con personas de cualquier sexo. Es decir que los derechos no se garantizan así nomás, se consiguen a través de la protesta, la educación, las huelgas… la temida subversión.

¿Y cómo se propusieron eliminar el estado de derecho de la mentalidad colectiva? No fue clausurando el acceso a literatura hegeliana, ni marxista, solamente. Fue prohibiendo libros de los más elementales conocimientos: libros de historia y de geografía, libros de psicología, la Declaración de los Derechos del Hombre y del Ciudadano, enciclopedias universales, diarios, diccionarios… porque un pueblo ignorante no puede decidir por sí mismo.

En el 2019 tenemos privilegios que hace 36 años hubieran sido misiones suicidas. Tenemos la posibilidad de denunciar y quejarnos sobre lo que queramos y tener como consecuencia máxima un grito o una enemistad. Declarar nuestra opinión no lleva tanto coraje como lo hacía en la dictadura. Debatan, peléense, grítense en la cara, anímense a quedar en ridículo. No tengan miedo de cambiar de bando , vociferar verdades y escupir estupideces. Quítense el hábito de adherirse a movimientos porque todos los demás lo hacen, no idolatren personas sino ideales.

Tenemos una sola obligación jurídica en la vida: educarnos. Tenemos que aprovecharla. Sacar provecho de la disponibilidad sin precedentes de contenidos gratuitos en la red. Lo que ha de primar y guiarnos es la verdad. El bien común viene después, es una consecuencia inmediata.

#24m #dictadura #argentina #dictadura argentina

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anbuccbrow-blog · 5 years

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School assignment

We had to make a story occurring during a carnival. Hope you like it ~

It was a typical carnival night at a fair in the outskirts of Mexico DF. The warm smell of Night-blooming jasmines, flowing around an even stronger scent of burning wood, filled the atmosphere. Fiery sprouts of orange flames projected shadows onto the stone ground, which women in vividly colorful patchwork skirts circled along.

As if lighting had just struck the ground far away, the murmuring crowd was suddenly silenced by the emergence of the sweet notes of a trumpet, vibrant and melancholic, which summoned seconds later the escort of violins and guitars; the “maracas” added, like sugar sprinkles on a cake, the steady pace of the song.

She stands swinging her dress left-to-right, enjoying the song in solitude, until a man approaches her. With a big smile and an apparently benevolent expression, he enquires why she is there all by herself, and suggests she dance with him. He is not bad-looking, just too old.

“Don’t you spoil it” thinks she. “They will call you a wet-blanket if you reject him”

So she grabs his hands, rough, sweaty, dodging his sight with a forced grin, looking down. The man sets her hands free in a whizz and gets ahold of her waist, making her nervously giggle. With her arms still suspended in the air she desperately thinks of a polite way to get him off of her and escape. She tells him that her mother is calling for her, that she is sorry, while she attempts to remove those predatory claws from her body. The man, however, squeezes her tighter and tells her “Lying is not a good thing, little girl. What would your mother say if she found out?” Meanwhile, a bunch of girls were gaping at the show. They cowardly turned their backs and found a new topic to chatter about.

“Mister, please…” she implored. The man reacted releasing her body violently with a push.

Exchange of glances between the passersby first knit the eyes together, then the hands and finally the feet, which swam like frenzied fish from the superficial seawaters, driven crazy by the Equatorial heat. Spontaneous smiles decorated those stunning faces, some full of wrinkles, others abundant in color, many more lit up by an alluring blush, swirling around to the beat of wild string instruments and castanets.

At large she felt clueless. She straightened her skirt slowly, with a knot on her throat, and looked to one side and the other, hoping nobody had witnessed anything. She shyly headed towards the “mariachis”, dodging and coming against the focused-on-their-dance couples that slid across the carnival fair like chess pieces in perfect synch. Amongst those people she bumped into there was a messy-haired, honey-voiced gentleman who had just entered adulthood.

“I’m sorry” she whispered facing anywhere but his face, when the young man asked worrisome “Damn, are you okay?”. Captivated by those deep and soft vocal cords, she lifted her head up and, being bedazzled herself, she bedazzled the youngster who remained stunned for six slow seconds by this girl’s beauty, until he started laughing. She laughed as well, more discretely, when the dude asked her name.

“What a nice name!” he uttered, trying to be cheeky. “I am Omar, it’s a pleasure” he said, and stretched his hand. She sensed its softness; it was slightly sticky, just enough not to resemble cotton but skin. Relieved, she shook the hand with a firm grip, this time because she wanted to. Those seconds of interaction were enough to leave her in a trance. Having been pushed away more than once by the swirling dance couples, Omar asked her out to dance “considering we are literally being forced to”. She nodded in approval, and as soon as Omar slid his arm quickly around her upper waist, not even touching the waist itself, and came closer, gazing at her cheerfully from above… that heat she had felt before. That gaze, that short distance between her and a man. In his eyes she saw the man.

“Who gave you the power to choose your partner at free will? Are you a slut choosing men at your ease?” She stepped back, making Omar remove his arm, and making an awkward reverence she ran away to an accelerated heartbeat.

#story #writing #fiction #violence

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anbuccbrow-blog · 5 years

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Niall x Roman fanfic oof

So i was browsing through the shithole that I call “stupid shit folder” in the document section when I stumbled upon this… piece.

1. I’m sorry

2. I’m really not.

Yes, it’s a Pyrocynical x NFKRZ fan fiction. Old fashioned since now Niall must be probably shipped with Imallexx or some bullcrap (by the way it’s alex x atozy ...stfu that will never change)

Enjoy and maybe read with a friend during a pajama party or shit like that.

P.S. I’m leaving some side notes in Italics because they are too stupid to be missed.

“Hey, can we go to this place?” Roman took his phone and showed on google maps the place he wanted to visit.

“Here?” Niall asked confused “Ok, I guess, no problem” Roman hurried to say “Yeah, it’s kind of a wish, you know,… I mean, it’s architecture is pretty interesting and reflects the Victorian times, something that in Russia you’d hardly be able to find, so now that I got the opportunity… I’m gonna use it.”

Roman sounded convincing, didn’t he?

So, both of them went out, Niall with his hands in his pockets, back lent a little bit forward, and Roman straight with hands in pockets, too. Roman started talking about Overwatch and what games were surely going to take over it as regards gameplay resource. Niall nodded at everything Roman said and tried to continue talking about the topic with very, very vague affirmations.

Roman, on the contrary, conversed confidently and seemed to be interested. But Niall just couldn’t believe it.

Niall was suffering. Since Roman had arrived at his home, he had almost never felt comfortable. He tried to be funny with no success. He’d become so lame and worried about not fulfilling his guest’s wishes. Roman had had to invite himself to that little trip to the cemetery because Niall was tormented enough by the thought of losing Roman.

“Nice gates, huh?” Roman said, and laughed. Niall quickly glazed upon Roman’s eyes and stared back to the ground with a forced giggle.

“You sure you want to be here?” asked Roman.

“Oh” said Niall regretfully “no, I mean, yes, it’s a pleasure to bring you here, I mean, I-I-I thought it’s cool to have you here, so… yeah.”

“Do you want to take a selfie next to this gargoyle?” Roman pulled out his phone and mumbled “I’m gay”.

Niall laughed at him and in a second Roman had captured Niall’s smile.

Roman thought “that’s just enough, isn’t it”

“Place your head next to the statue’s face” Roman told Niall. Niall did so.

Seeing himself in the screen of the front camera, Niall felt embarrassed. His little chubby not defined face, next to Roman’s Nordic eyes, delicate lips and, not so manly (but for him it was manly) haircut. So he pulled his hood over his head and the only part of him that could be seen was a bit of his blond hair <yeah, saying blond is important for the ‘poetic effects’ of the story>.

“Are you serious, Niall?” Roman said in such a way you couldn’t tell whether he was angry or not.

“I’m sorry” Niall said. He just looked at the camera and smiled.

Roman took the picture. He brought his phone to himself and looked at the picture.

Oh God… Niall’s smile. Shy, gentle, kind of naughty…

He couldn’t share that. Oh hell no!

“Can I see it?” Niall tried to peek over Roman’s shoulder.

“Oh, ye - oh crap, I erased it! Well, never mind, let’s go on.”

“Come on, Roman, show it, I’m not a fool.”

“Well, I do have it but, it’s fucking gay” Roman falsely laughed and pushed Niall’s back to keep on walking.

“How could I not expect it” Niall thought “of course I seem fucking gay.” He believed Ksenia would have resembled a hippie boy next to Niall’s hyper-feminized face.

…

“Oh, I saw this passage in the Street View” said Roman “let’s go in there”

“It’s kinda spooky”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry” replied Roman.

Both turned to the right and walked into the passage, which had stone walls at the sides, covered in climbing plants.

A light came from the other side. Niall thought of telling Roman that view was good for a photograph. “By the way”, he also thought, “he hasn’t taken many pictures, has he?”

As this thoughts crossed his mind, a sudden force pushed him towards the wall. He gasped. First, one hand holding his shoulder, and the next second both of his shoulders were firmly held by Roman’s dark silhouette.

Niall’s open eyes were doing very short, but quick movements from one place to the other, first looking and the brightest side of Roman’s face, then looking at the other side.

Niall and Roman were just staring at each other.

Roman’s frown slowly faded.

His hands know held Niall’s biceps. He caressed the jacket (not his arms, unfortunately for all of us) with his thumb.

He quickly leaned towards Niall’s face, turning his neck and jaws to his left, and kissed him.

Kissed him gently. Just posing his lips on Niall’s. They were cold and thick.

He leaned his head back to himself. And looked at Niall.

His eyes, still but quite open, looking at Roman’s hair. Roman just couldn’t help himself, and grabbed Niall by the waist, brought him near his stomach and kissed him again, know passionately. He pressed and released Niall’s waist constantly as his mouth played with the poor individual.

Roman released Niall’s mouth. But Niall wasn’t even looking at Roman anymore.

He felt dizzy. His legs didn’t support him anymore. Roman suddenly felt Niall’s weight and asked, struggling to keep him up “Niall, Niall! Are you okay?”

He sat him on the rock path and placed his head on the wall.

Roman weakly grabbed Niall’s hand.

Niall looked sick. Roman liked him anyway. His eye bags were more pronounced, he looked whiter, his mouth was a little bit open, as if he was retarded, but to Roman, that was just a supermodel.

“Should I take you to the hospital?” Roman held tighter Niall’s hand, and with the other hand unbuttoned Niall’s jacket pocket, were Niall placed his phone.

Niall grinned with that drunk face he had. “Cyka Blyat” he laughed.

“Niall!” Roman shouted “do I call the hospital or not?”

“Y – yeah” Niall replied, surprised.

However, Niall wasn’t drunk-sick-stupid enough, not to notice that,…

Roman was worrying for him.

CHAPTER 2.

“So, how did this happen?” asked the doctor.

“Well, I don’t know” Roman said. Niall trusted that Roman would pretend that it was out of nowhere, but Niall himself was trying to think of a not embarrassing excuse for his partial pass out.

“It was sudden? Happened out of nowhere?” said the doctor, with an intensified British unintelligible accent.

Roman looked at Niall. Niall had his eyes half closed, and was too sleepy to react and guess Roman’s silence.

“Excuse me?” Roman asked.

The doctor looked at Roman as if he was stupid and severely repeated “did… he... pass… out… or faint… out of… nowhere?”

“Oooh” Roman said “Uhmmm” he glazed at Niall’s eyes with a bit of guilt “yeah, out of nowhere”

“Sudden, you say… This unpredictable low pressure may mean serious problems, though high pressure is worse.” Roman stayed with the “high pressure is worse” affirmation, which gave him some kind of relief. “But his legs weakened,… if the low pressure came out of nowhere, there may also be flaws in the nervous system which couldn’t make the legs work correctly”.

The doctor was just making all of this up. Shivers climbed up Roman’s back. “I’ll tell Michelle to do some brain studies, convulsions may come at any second”

“Convulsions!?” Roman thought, sweating and trembling.“Uhmmm, Doctor, now that I remember” the doctor grinned, proud of him getting to make the young gentleman spit the truth “a girl kissed him out of nowhere and he became nervous. You see, Niall, I mean, yeah, him” pointing at the almost dead body “has a girlfriend” Niall felt so accidentally roasted “and this girl kisses him random and Niall’s girlfriend appears, and he became really nervous” Roman ended his sentence looking at Niall in his cute hospital dress.

The doctor turned and looked at Roman, as he finished cleaning his stethoscope. His facial expression basically transmitted an “are you serious?”, which made Roman sweat even more. Needed children could have drunk those greasy liters and liters of perspiration.

“I kissed him, and it was out of nowhere. I-I-it was just a prank, tak ili inache, I mean, anyway.” Roman scratched his face, trying to hide his red, tomato skin. Niall hid his face with his serum-wired hand.

The doctor widened his eyes, then softened his expression and said “Mmmh, that sounds more believable. And see who has woken up and moved his hand!” He said, looking at Niall compassionate and ruthless simultaneously.

…

Roman constantly glazed upon Niall to see if he was okay. It wasn’t as if he could just offer his arm and tell him “hey, take my arm” so that if he felt dizzy again he wouldn’t fall. Niall’s head was facing down. Once again, a little of his hair could be seen peeking out of his hood. Roman was just so thankful that they hadn’t told Niall’s relatives about the incident, which could have kicked him out of Niall’s house or ended up in an awkward coming out scene.

Roman looked at the other side for a second. He’d fucked up. No way he could talk to Niall again. Pyrocynical and NFKRZ… Would they collaborate again? The situations would be nerve wracking and toxic for both of them. Should they pretend they were separated by various arguments on social media? Was it possible that…

Roman was staring at the buildings of the block opposite. His lips trembled a little, and he felt very tired. Reminding himself he had a sick individual next to him, he struggled to turn his head back to Niall and make sure everything was ok…

A quick caress danced in Roman’s gloved hand, and soon his fingers were trapped by another hand. Roman’s heart bumped stronger than usual, his pupils increased, and he instantly stared at his hand held by Niall’s. A distance of 10 cm separated each other.

Roman slowly moved his sight towards Niall. Facing down he was, but now you could see his mouth, drawing a soft half grin, cheek up, and his eyelashes shined over his light blue eyes (bitch you blind??) , partially covered by his messy fringe.

Niall turned his face towards Roman. The Russian gasped (he didn’t expect such a predictable movement). Niall giggled at his friend’s reaction. And stepped near him, making their hands rustle against the sides of their thighs. He looked down again.

Roman’s feelings of relief and love were undescriptable. His cute little lesbian, almost resting on his side. Self-consciousness was absent at this point, and people looking at them were as unnoticeable as trains dashing thousands of kilometers away (they weren’t taking notice of anything, to make it short).

They walked a few blocks more. Niall smelled Roman’s sweat, felt Roman’s fingers caressing his thigh as they moved their legs, travelled Roman’s profile with his eyes and stopped at his eyes. Whenever Roman turned his head to check up on Niall, he would look down on the street tiles to avoid eye contact and blush slightly. This was when Roman looked at Niall’s hair, dancing with the wind and the rhythm of their walk, gazed upon his eyes, then his nose, mouth, chin, little mole on his cheek, and imagined his body under the jacket, trying to recreate the memories he had from the 1000 degree knife video, where Niall let see part of his torso and abdomen.

Unfortunately, Roman’s social awareness was coming back and the people staring at him, felt like being shot right in the confidence and the dignity. But he couldn’t let this opportunity go away, so he stared back at the people who looked at him with a rapey face and they just turned away.

However, the stares became more and more unbearable. Niall was just closing his eyes, resting his head on Roman’s shoulder. The Russian moved his arms away from Niall. Niall asked “what is wrong?” with childish, shiny eyes. Roman glanced over his shoulder and sighed. He thought, with a tie in his throat “это не будет работать” (this is not going to work). He sighed again, louder.

“Roman, Roman, are you alright?” Niall grabbed his face by the cheeks and made him face him. Roman exhaled with tears in his eyes…

“I can’t do it” he cried, not yet sobbing, but his jaws already tense, his eyelids strongly pressed to each other. “I’m sorry”.

Niall let go of him and stared at the opposite block.

“I acted compulsively” tears finally dropped out and drew little spots as they fell through the snow. “The moment was so perfect. I organized everything just to get to this moment” Roman did frenetic gestures with his hands. His face was red because of the cold and the crying.

“What am I going to do with Ksenia?” those words were a bit of a tough slap for Niall, but the Brit handled it and said optimistically “well, dump her” as he put his arms around him.

Roman glared at Niall “I-I-I can’t. I do love her, I mean, I can’t tell her this”

“But Roman, who do you love the most?”

That question *uffff* it was tough. Roman was really confused. What did his heart tell him? That heart was stupid, for sure. And his brain, what did it think about the situation? Well, you couldn’t even count with that organ of doubtful presence.

Roman looked at Niall, who soon released his hand and started walking away.

“You”

Niall turned back.

“You, I prefer you” Roman’s sobbing intensified and he ran towards Niall “I prefer you! You and only you!” shouted him as he strongly hugged Niall.

“Ello blazers, no fkez ee” sweetly pronounced Niall.

“Our love is of the Major Love Gaming” Roman whispered in Niall’s ear.

“Well, no, that’s just cringey” Niall hugged Roman tighter.

#nfkrz #pyrocynical #fanfic

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