Left-wing electoral cynicism has no limits. In the desolation of an April 25th charged like never before, but ending in the most chilling farce, between former secretaries dedicated, it seems, to dexterous theft, censored martyrs in procession on all channels, WhatsApp chats of the usual suspects, orchestrated by a Bel Ami, candidacies in the smell of aesthetic subversivism, all that remains for the opportunistic left is to exhume the holy cards: Republic launches new book posthumously, how many more from here to eternity?of the omnipresent Michela Murgiabetween post-mortem self-exaltation and denunciation of eternal fascism: “Remember me as you like”, the title, but the summary is: as long as you remember me, in the sign of militant and permanent antifa.
Murgia at this point deserves mercy as an agitator of very modest literary qualities deserves it, someone who in her time extolled, like everyone in her milieu, the fascism of the democrats, the green passes, the lockdowns, the vaccination blackmail: she went so far as to invoke “more Covid, at least I travel in comfort and alone on the plane”. She was the nonsense of many, not just on the left, and which should be considered with a minimum of pity, at least in her case.
The situation is different for the advertising industry for electoral purposes: here we are on the prowlwhich is also counterproductive: in Meloni’s obsessive, relentless drumbeat about fascism, many do not find themselves, even on the left, many abandon this ship of madmen, and, as for the others, the normal ones, those who pull the cart, they simply can’t take it anymore and they take comfort in the perhaps summary but definitive judgment: these guys broke the balls, these people march on it but they don’t believe it either, look at them how they prosper, pompous, arrogant; in any case the problems are different, our problems are different.
The problems are, for example, that on April 25th there were hordes of hysterics maranza raging in the name of crime in low grass shouting: we are all Palestinians. But yeah maranza of the Milanese nightlife in Gaza matters as much as to those of Massimo Giannini’s chats: very little, what matters to these and those is to maintain their positional income. The Maranza have discovered how to live happily in tolerated illegality, and they don’t intend to give it up. At the same time, we have witnessed outbreaks of subversion, if not outright subversion, under the cry “Intifada in Italy”: they are the provocateurs who come out of universities, schools, social centres, they are the climate hooligans, they are the exalted and the old foxes of terrorism of yesteryear, today coordinated by anarchic crime centers such as the Askatasuna of Turin, protected by the Municipality, whose objective is to weld the local terrorist effervescence with that of Islamic-Palestinian origin. A horizon dear to the Red Brigades since Moretti’s time and never abandoned: it was on the agenda at the time of Galesi’s “New BR” and Nadia Lioce, those that hit Marco Biagi and Massimo d’Antona, and it is today, even more so , as the security apparatus knows and says.
Even more so, because today welding could even be successful. The left that nominates Salis, or looks to the Scurati and Schleinian friendship, knows these things very well but continues to muddle through in the ambiguity of those who are pro-Hamas without saying it openly, he annoys, if not hates, Israel and the Jews but cannot admit it.
This left deludes itself, today as yesterday, of being able to ride and govern the chaotic, pseudo-revolutionary centrifugal forces aimed at disturbing the Giorgia Meloni and for this purpose he uses the usual bombardment of aesthetic and egocentric anti-fascism, of the Scuratis, the Savianos, the boiled singer-songwriters friends of Giannini. And dear memories like Murgia, who left a legacy of a series of posthumous, anti-fascist booklets, together with some annoying debts with the tax authorities.
Remember me as you like, as long as I’m anti-fascist: what do you want to remember, but what museum or cemetery anti-fascism. Only Murgia and the others of the Strega’s congregation, the visionaries by calculation, can rave about “new fascism”, about “new black or brown shirts” at the gates, identifying them with the regime of Meloni and his brother-in-law Lollo. A mere, squalid question of position income which we do not want to give up, in Rai, in the Biennials, in all the centers of power and cultural pretext mangers. It’s all so ridiculous and, at this point, we too are ridiculous for continuing to point it out as if to reiterate the obvious and the more than obvious.
Murgia was, naming her while alive, a non-innocent, who had found something to live on, even discreetly, from fanatical provocation: the schwa, the inclusive and “anti-fascist” punctuation marks, the extended family, the mythology of herself. In this, a model, a champion of advertising strategy, a sort of Chiara Ferragni engagée, of which everyone today tries to follow in the wake. But also a perverse model, destined to end in the pathetic. His heirs are the Scurati and the Savianos who, in the name of inclusive commitment, fight each other among those who are most censored, they are the Chiara Valeriothe Valentina Mira, terrible writers, very vain, discreet political gold-diggers. A candidacy was also hypothesized for Murgia, and there is no doubt that she, if she were alive today, would already be projected towards Brussels. But, leaving aside the squalor of an electoral market now mixed with the publishing market, where do the Democratic Party and its branches think they are arriving by persisting in this silly, sad, paranoid dead end?
Max Del Papa, 29 April 2024
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