On a Friday morning like many others, the news of the umpteenth suicide of a boy with stars; we do not know why, we imagine that there are many, too many for anyone to bear, impossible to share, unimaginable for such a green age, yet to open up to the future.
We cannot know what that boy really may have suffered, perhaps we will never know, and it is right that it should be. But it is also true that he is not the first, unfortunately, and that, regardless of age, the evil of living continues to claim victims, to require a tribute of blood as much more onerous as it is unacceptable, and incomprehensible for those who remain astonished to seek to understand, perhaps even assuming even one's own faults.
Moreover, the idea that one has on the outside of the military is very misleading, superficial, never spontaneous, never sincere.
Ours is a country that is easily moved by a football match, but just as voluptuously gives in to laughter when a multi-tattooed millionaire with varnished nails defines dogs as those who have chosen to wear a uniform.
No matter why, we all know perfectly well that, ever since the world began, those who enlist often do so out of necessity; we certainly do not discover now that many in uniform come from the south, but this does not mean that they have no less right to be respected for the choice they have made, alongside those who have been pushed, at least initially, by more ideal reasons. And we insist on the adverb, at first.
Italy, so lavish with cheap goodness, of its people in uniform, men and women, knows nothing; perhaps of rainbows or omniscient Swedish teenagers yes, perhaps, but certainly of what animates a world seen with suspicion and prevention, no.
Whose fault? Well, first of all, of a culture made of incense and sacristy, of constant refusal of what is duty, of exaltation of the forbidden prohibition, of a comfortable inconsistency elevated to a system, of a cowardice of the soul that, carefully cultivated in recent decades, it provides alibis for any attitude. The fault is never of whoever commits the lack, the fault is of someone else, whether it is stolen or raped.
How does a culture based on duty, honor, symbols, memory, even an oath take root, which even children no longer do? Unimaginable.
But is it all external responsibility? No, we don't believe it; this is an evil which, like many others, sprouts from within. What happens on the outside only aggravates it.
Like all social systems, even the military one has its flaws; what is serious is that, more and more often, he turns us around, but does not have the courage and strength to remedy those evils that he knows very well, but which, failing to accept, looks with annoyance, allowing them to allignino.
It's easy to look further, but it doesn't seem like a good technique. Yet the diaspora of qualified personnel should suggest something; such as taking note that the measures taken at the time to contain spending by limiting recruitment are producing devastating effects that will have an impact for years to come. And if the best leave, then who is left to guide the fate of such a complex organization?
Human capital constitutes a largely misunderstood value, which depletes in a short time. Let's be honest, even the military world, which should also enhance the immateriality of a supporting vocation, has succumbed to a pragmatism that smacks of nihilism, of opportunism. If, despite everything, he still resists with a glimmer of value, obviously there is no need to be happy about what society and the surrounding world offer, because it means that they really have nothing to give.
Il beau geste no longer exists, the famous cap thrown on the table is part of another time, if it ever existed: no one expresses the discomfort and complaints of a complex of people who, never before, feel and suffer the sidereal distances that run between them and increasingly distant vertices. No one who has the courage to say: not with me, it will not happen with me, I will not abandon my boys.
Let's be honest, who really cared about the accommodations needed by the staff? Who has taken the courage in two hands, and has put at the door those who, for excellent remuneration, for possession of property, for long-standing forfeiture of title, still occupy houses to be allocated to those who, having the right, also need them? Nobody. Moreover, even the management of overtime, so important for families in increasing difficulty, is no exception, subject to attribution criteria that often fluctuate on the edge of discretion that certainly does not encourage, since it always rewards them.
Merit is another delicate subject, so impalpable that we prefer not to even touch it, also because we would run the risk of not finding the usual suspects just mentioned, and gratified, those who may have had the lot to know who was able to guarantee substantial help.
The military world is difficult, so complicated that close to honest graduates, however little considered, there are holders of praise and commendations who, like meteors, fly over every roughness, leaving the honest graduates with the task of taking on obscure, heavy and responsible positions. , which certainly do not lead to commendations, but rather to complaints or charges. After all, someone has to take on the mangy tasks. Not bad if they are always the same, those who see the praise with the binoculars of others.
It is a world so incomprehensible that, while on the one hand it dutifully exalts courage and sacrifice, on the other it hardly sees clear-cut positions; better the politics of Richelieu, silent, underground, that of the fleeting phone call with malice in tow, better to avoid a dangerous direct confrontation, which could expose at least uncomfortable situations. That's it, that's life. It is this life. It is a life that accompanies men and women in uniform for most of their time, even and above all when they would have a family and children to look after, even and above all when the famous accommodation never arrives because those who live there, after decades, do he is so fond of him that he wants to keep him despite everything, since no one sees the opportunity to let him free.
It is a menage that, without bothering Freud, perhaps, does not help much in terms of serenity. It's a world of two, or even multiple speeds, it's all to be seen.
What is perplexing, from the outside, is to see who, over the years, has been involved in criminal matters, and maybe even been convicted: given the grades, one would think that, perhaps, promotions have not gratified those who really deserved . And one wonders, in a deafening silence, how it can be possible, how it can be admitted that, in any case, there are those who still manage to benefit from widespread gray areas. In spite of everything.
It is an obscure evil, it is an evil that gnaws, and in the long run, if all goes well, it makes you hang your uniform. It is an evil that is perfectly known, the cure is also known, but the incision to be practiced is so profound, and the prognosis so complex, that the evil remains, silent, inevitably consuming the good part.