Stories and News No. 867
2016 World Press Freedom Index: leaders paranoid about journalists…
Imagine a country.
Now take the paper, the great one.
Made especially for great countries.
Draw it among them.
Indeed, place it at the bottom of the latter.
As if it held up all alone, with a pride fueled by memories of its own history and what it has been forgotten.
Now focus your attention on one of the most powerful achievements of a great country, one of those used to tell around, with puffed-arched chest: I am among the great countries.
I refer to an art among many to tell stories, convinced that the true part is arguably larger than the rest.
Call it news, if that reassures you more.
Here, right now, let's assume that in the great country among the great ones such portentous practice is victim of a spell.
An evil jinx among the worst in the history of magic. Sometimes triggered by too alien forces for a great country, often self-inflicted.
A terrible, unnamed curse, because nobody has got so far the courage to pronounce it out loud, but it is there, under the eyes of all.
It is the bandage on the latter, the hands that choke the breath, also the walls that invariably prevent the real beyond the ear.
Nevertheless, the incantation goes well beyond the three impairments of the very well-known monkeys, since it also clogs the pores of the heart and cuts the wings of consciousness, it strangles at birth any cry that is a harbinger of change and wands any hand that dares to reach out to the past that should remain so.
Past, behind, irretrievably forgotten.
Now go back to imagine the country.
Moreover what a country, big or small it seems, is made of: you and I, we, you, them, everybody. All hearing news, assured that the portion of reality is much larger than the rest. Hopeful that for our country the great adjective was true too.
You may call them stories as well, although this will reassure you less.
Just tales, seasoned with incontrovertible truth, of course, but drowned in the most blatant lie and less obvious manipulation.
Polluted by the above virus.
An unnamed one, I agree, but with the well-known symptoms.
Among all, fear. Uncontainable terror to tell everything that has not yet been confessed. To show what life has already shown. And to make known what has been already deleted.
Now, dear friend, can you imagine, after years and years of such a spectacle, what could happen to the minds and hearts of the people of the great country?
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