Monday, October 25

Ceuta migration crisis: Trampantoja | Opinion


Health professionals attend to several people in the first reception hall in the Tarajal industrial estate (Ceuta).
Health professionals attend to several people in the first reception hall in the Tarajal industrial estate (Ceuta).Antonio Sempere / Europa Press

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You have to pay attention. Duck or rabbit. What is the image that I look at? Ricardo Piglia asked him in Night white. We live in a universe of saturation, overprinting, of images. I can see a witch, but if I look more closely, a young lady with a stole rests within the same lines. You have to look at yourself and ask yourself questions that reveal the prejudices of our superinformed retina and on the verge of detaching itself due to bearing an excessive load. We are on the brink of blindness. Courses are urgently needed to develop trompe l’oeil decoding skills. Let’s look at the recent flood of migrants to Ceuta. The album. In the first image, a gate opens and gives way to a joyous crowd. His authorities say: “Come in. Today is party”. They cross the border of an inaccessible country to attend a football game or to work, earn a living, escape ruin, realize their dream of prosperity. Work, earn a living, ruin, dream of prosperity are not the same. Our pupils, instructed in publicity and happy endings, contract with glee: a gate; it opens; enthusiastic body gestures. Image without violence. However, behind it are the intentions of a government that reduces its citizenship to a third year old, uses it as a pawn for its revenge, distorts the word humanitarianism, opens a door giving arguments to the enemies of its poor compatriots: invasion, Ores crammed into ships, sons of bitches, sons of bitches, Spanish Ceuta, crime. No matter the cannon fodder, the uncomfortable bodies to spread the fear of the contagion of the louse, the virus or misery, the spoiled hopes of the happy boys or those women who cross the border cages with their goods in tow, and that day They swam without knowing how to swim with their babies on their backs and arrived breathless ashore: a civil guard, for once, rescued a living child and not a dead child.

Other images first make us outraged, then we force ourselves to justify them and then outrage us again because the violent need for certain actions has not yet necrotized our red heartbeat: the boys climb a cliff and are greeted by the boots of the security forces that return them to the water. Up, kick, stick, down, it’s necessary, horrible, you have to defend the territory, the health of the Ceuta, business, oh, it’s necessary. I can not stand. Then there is the pure evil: a journalist misrepresents the highest values ​​of our human condition. The sub-Saharan man clinging to the Red Cross volunteer. Pain, empathy, helplessness, hug, compassion are reduced to dirt thanks to the defamatory gaze of a fascist. Political and social psychopathy sister to those who were born on the good side of the world: cayetaners, prevaricators, nuns who nip, African kings, oligarchs who do not have white skin, but use those who have it like them to protect their class interests. All to one: Spanish extreme right and multicolored aristocracies. Goose pasta. Disrespect for expendable lives. You have to pay attention. An image awakens contradictory feelings, holds an unpredictable meaning, is adulterated by a vicious eye. We reflect ourselves in the interpreted, felt image. You have to pay attention. Let’s activate the filter of a humanity that always protects the outcasts, the outcasts, of the earth.


elpais.com

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