Sunday, 1 December 2013

INTERVIEW WITH MARCOLA (most probably false)


“Are you of the PCC?

More than this, I am a sign of these times. I am poor and invisible. You have never looked at me for decades and formerly it was easy to solve the problem of misery. The diagnosis was obvious; rural migration, unbalanced rent, few slums, discrete peripheries; the solution would never come up… What did they do?, nothing. Some time did the Federal Government reserve certain budget for us? We were news only in case of slums collapsed in the mountains or of romantic music about “beauty of those mountains at dawn”, things like that… Now we are rich with the multinational of the drug. And you are dying of fear. We are the late beginning of your social conscience. Did you see? I am a learned person. I read Dante Alighieri in prison…

But the solution would be…

Is there a solution? No solution, brother. Even the idea of a “solution” is a mistake. Did you see the size of those 560 slums in Rio? Did you go in helicopter over the periphery of Sao Paulo? A solution, how? A solution could only be with many millions of dollars spent in an organized way, with a ruler of high level, economic growth, revolution in education, general urbanization, and all should be under the direction of an “illustrious tyranny” that could jump over the secular bureaucratic paralysis and over the accomplice Legislative Power. Or do you believe that bloodsuckers ( sanguessugas ) are not going to act? I you get careless they are going to rob even the PCC. And over the Judicial Power that impedes punishments. It should there be a radical reformation of the penal procedure of the country, it should there be communication and intelligence between municipal, provincial and federal police (we make even “conference calls” among convicts…). And all this would cost billions of dollars and imply a deep psychosocial change in the political structure of the country. That is to say, it is impossible. There is no solution.

Don't you fear to die?

It is you who fear to die, not we. Or rather, here you cannot enter prison and kill me, but I can send people to kill you over there outside. We are men-bombs. There are one hundred thousand men-bombs. We are in the center of what is beyond solution. You are between good and evil and, in the middle, the boundary of death, the only boundary. We are already a new “species”; we are already bugs; we are different from you. Death is to you a Christian drama in a bed by heart attack. Dead is to us daily food, thrown to a common grave. Don't you intellectuals speak of class war, of being marginal or of being heroes? Then, it is we who arrive! Ha-ha, haw-haw!… I read a lot; I have read three thousand books; and I read Dante Alighieri, but my soldiers are strange anomalies in the distorted development of this country. No more proletarians or unhappy or exploited individuals. There is a third thing growing over there outside, cultivated in the mud, educated on the most absolute illiteracy, graduated in prisons, like a monster Alien hidden in corners of the city. A new language has emerged. Don't you listen at recordings made “with license” from justice? It is this. It is other lingo. It is in front of some kind of post-misery. It is that. This post-misery begets a new murderous culture assisted by technology, satellites, cellular telephones, Internet and modern weapons. It is shit with chips and megabytes. My commands are a mutation of the social species. They are mushrooms of a big dirty mistake.

What has changed in peripheries?

“Dough”. Now we have it. Do you think that he who has 40 million dollars, like Beira Mar, does not give orders? A prison becomes a hotel or an office if you have 40 million dollars available… What police will burn that gold-mine? Do you understand? We are a modern and wealthy company. If the official hesitates, he is fired and “put in the microwave oven”. You are the bankrupt state overpowered by incompetent people. We have agile management methods. You are slow and bureaucratic. We fight in our own field. You fight in a strange land. We do not fear death. You die of fear. We are well armed. You have caliber 38. We are at the attack. We are cruel and merciless. You have transformed us into “super-stars” of the crime. You are own clowns. We are assisted by the population of slums, for fear or for love. You are hated. You are regional, provincial. Our weapons and products come from outside and are “global”. We do not forget you; you are our “clients”. You forget us once violence produced by us is over.

But, what must we do?

I'll give you an idea, although it is against me. Catch the “lords of the white powder” (cocaine)! There are deputies, senators, generals, even former presidents of Paraguay in the traffic of cocaine and weapons. But, who is going to do so?, the army, with what money? They have no money even to feed recruits. The country is bankrupt sustaining a dead state with interest of 20 % a year, and Lula still increases public expenses by giving employment to forty thousand scoundrels. Shall the army fight the PCC? I am reading Klausewitz' “On War”. No perspective of success. We are like devouring ants hidden in corners. We have antitank missiles. If they bother, some Stinger shall go out: this will be the end of us… only with an atomic bomb on the slums. Did you think of it? A radioactive Ipanema?
You can get some success if you give up defending the “normality”. There is no normality. You need to make self-criticism of your own incompetence. But you have to be honest seriously as for moral. We all are in the center of what is beyond solution. The point is that we only live within it and you have no exit. You have only shit. And we are already working within it. You must understand me, brother: there is no solution. Do you know why?: because you neither understand the extension of the problem. As the divine Dante Alighieri wrote: “Lose every hope. We all are in hell”.