15 days ago, Kevin Spacey reappeared in Rome, where he made a wonderful poetic reading next to the moving millenary statue of the fighter at rest. The character of the sculpture, bearded in the Greek way, with bandaged hands with leather strips, whose difficulty in breathing in fatigue and pain is almost possible to perceive, has a hurt, deformed face, in which they can be recognized as brothers all the boxers of the following 2,500 years, the same as those of Egan's grinding that any veteran who is now putting a bandage to ventilate on the ropes of the ring of any gymnasium in Carabanchel.
When interpreting Gabriele Tinti's poem dedicated to the fighter, Spacey left some personal analogies made regarding the ability to sacrifice under the blows, the temptation to surrender and stop fighting when the punishment is too rigorous and will bend it to one; finally, to the restoration of the dignity of the man who perhaps did not even win, but he endured.
I have written "dignity of man" aware of the scandalous and blasphemous that this combination of words is today. But, as far as the bronze boxer and his descendants are concerned, I include in that dignity boxers like Miriam La Reina , an amphora fighter whom I have seen submitted to those tests of the determination that go back to Greece and reach Torrejón de Ardoz .
We were convinced that the exoneration of Kevin Spacey, as well as others who saw how the curse left his reputation as hurt as the face of the fighter at rest, would constitute an agitator of consciences about the impunity with which the inquisitorial extensions of the #MeToo. Wow, that the "global village" mentideros, as said before, would start thinking twice before tightening another rope in the hangman's tree. It was a mistake and this is evidenced by the almost consecutive manufacture - that does not decay! - of the next monster, Plácido Domingo (you will see the day that #MeToo takes its raids to the orgiastic rock bands of the 70s and some discover the fish Led Zeppelin vaginal).
Placido's case seemed to respond to the usual routine. Complaints partly anonymous and incomprobable and without judicial process, immediate reaction - through cancellations of contracts and repudios - of all those who prefer to deliver to the public demolition an actor or tenor with whom they worked before confronting, even for a moment , to the feminist leviathan.
There are also lynchers who do not act out of fear, but to get on that wave, the feminist, which has become a moral space controlled by the left, perfect to feel in the right part of the story. Thus, the #MeToo, which could have served to correct abuses of positions of dominance and change in that sense many years of pernicious social relations that no one culturally questioned, ended up transforming into a laser gun of the War of the Sexes , which yearns to consecrate the idea that man is the natural predator of women.
But something changed with Placido. Some operas, such as Salzburg, refused this time to cancel. And articles and opinions flowed, more than ever, questioning the infallibility of #MeToo, a "enough" that would have been unthinkable a few years ago. What has happened is impressive: suddenly, there were those who dared to doubt that the woman is always right when she accuses her beast, the man. This belief that the Government of Carmen Calvo assumed as revealed truth and state policy; and the global organ, as the editorial line of the public address broadcasts 24 hours a day.
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- Placido Domingo
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Misanthropy Once Upon a Time
Dead or alive Kevin Spacey, after months trapped in the public stocks